The Thief and the Hitman
by Amarcrinum
Summary: AU. She steals, he kills; it doesn't seem like they have anything in common besides taking things that aren't theirs at times that are convenient for them. A moment in passing immediately ties them together, in ways neither of them could quite explain. And when her job unravels his secrets, they find out they have a lot more in common than just taking "things". V/Y, C/T. (Hiatus)
1. Close Encounters

**_A/N:_** An AU idea I've had for the longest time. Now that I've graduated college, I have more time to write. Let me know what you think! Updates are every _**Friday**_.

 _Edited 6/15/2017_

* * *

It was the dead of night; slice of the moon scarcely peeking through an overcast sky. A setting she liked to call 'the perfect night for a crime.' Her fingers worked effortlessly against the lock, smiling under the darkness as the gears sung her favorite song. After a moment of force, it clicked and turned with her picks, drawing back the latch well enough to push the door forward. The petite figure pocketed her gear and slipped between the opening, pressing her back against the wood to soundlessly close it again. She was there for less than a minute and a small whisper her ears meant Tifa Lockhart, aka professional codename **Shiva** , wasn't holding her breath anymore. The girl couldn't help but roll her eyes and whisper back into her coms, a device fit perfectly in her ear activated with a light touch.

"You're going to pass out if you keep doing that." She heard the frown on the woman's face through the earpiece, adding to the confident smile still on her lips. "Everything about this routine, done a million times, you know that – it'll probably help more if you trust me, **Boobs**." Oh, and codename **Boobs** at home.

A sigh and grumble cut through a few seconds of silence. And then, her serious tone. "It's **Shiva** in the field, **Leviathan."**

That was all **Leviathan** needed to hear. The young woman moved through the foyer, glancing up the twin staircases that snaked up to the second floor. The room itself was breath-taking, lit by the tiniest amount of light cutting through the rolling clouds; it was enough to show the fine crystals of the colorful stained glass, a window that appeared to disappear into the ceiling. She couldn't help but take a moment, a fleeting dream dancing in her mind. She could have it all someday, it just took the right job.

Realty rocked her back to the present and she lowered herself for a moment. Since the few clicks of the lock and shutting door, she had yet to really make a noise. All hesitation faded with the light, hiding the moon beneath the deep clouds. In the darkness, aside from the faintest green glow in her night vision goggles, the young woman was invisible, blending perfectly into the shadows.

And as the plans ran through her mind again, Tifa mumbled something quietly. "Staircase to the west wing, last door in the hall." Of course, she was already up the stairs, but not quite on the right side. Without a sound and no need to hold back on theatrics, she vaulted herself back, twisting freely on her gloved hands as she slowly backflipped to the west, right across the jutted landing. Now with the foyer behind her, she stood surveying the new space, seeing a plainly laid out hallway in her path.

Just as the foyer and the rest of the house, the hall was silent and dark. If their contact was true to their word, the residents were on vacation until tomorrow, bright and early just in time for work Monday morning.

This was their last shot.

Despite the various doors lining the dark hallway, the young woman clearly knew her entrance. Tifa's words echoed in her mind, but an idiot would be able to pick out the right door here... as in the grand and large and obviously important door. Two doors, in fact, leading toward what she assumed was a bedroom or office of some sort. If this was a video game, a hobby she took too much pride in, this would clearly be a treasure room. Yet, when she approached the doors, she found no resistance from its knob, no massive lock waiting for a boss key. With a light twist, she entered quietly and a subtle click a moment later, she was in, scoping out the extravagant study with careful eyes.

And just as her green, night vision goggles showed her the way, they were recording everything for the rest of the crew to see with her, just in case. Shuffling in her ears, a small gasp and an audible whistle cut in her coms, probably from their resident chimney and tech-extraordinaire. She grinned and Tifa laughed – they still never got used to the lifestyles of the rich-and-famous.

Just as she assumed, it was a room of status, everything about the room breathed **_manly man_** (leather, cigar smoke, a hint of expensive liquor in the air). Mostly, it **_way_** bigger than her entire apartment and it easily made her have the biggest eyeroll of her life.

The massive desk, cluttered with papers, books, computers still humming, written thoughts and ideas, all scattered for curious eyes. A comfortable, more-expensive-than-her-entire-collection-of-"borrowed"-possessions kind of office chair sat behind it, turned toward a crystal clear, floor to ceiling window as an afterthought. The clouds had dispersed again, breathing light into the space to show her, and the team, everything.

The thief, on the other hand, was simply amused. Maybe he had all the time in the world to overlook his luxuries and gardens from that chair. He probably made very important decisions here, or was fairly welcoming with a mistress here when the missus was away… She shrugged; there was no time to peruse and pursue any incriminating details on the guy, despite wanting desperately to test the cushion of that chair. Instead, her eyes found their way toward a set of shelves lining the walls. Even more books and tokens of expense lined these shelves, rows of accomplishments and rewards of success. Statues of gods, crystal vases, old histories that would go for more than a pretty penny at any market across the world. But they were not her prize today. Besides, Cid Highwind, aka professional codename **Odin** , aka at home codename **Smoke Stack, Chimney,** and her personal **Giant-Pain-In-The-Ass** , would wring her neck if she came back with anything but the client's request. And luckily for them, their client's description was more than detailed enough – the request, a model of a very old and famous airship sat perfectly in her view, an arm's raise height for her to get her sticky hands on. The Sierra, adorned with the latest and greatest of its generation, lost to the past of war, ruin, and destruction. Very few had replicas of the airship existed today, and from what they found, only three or four are left in the world.

Their client paid more than enough to show how badly they wanted a piece of that history. So, the young woman approached as such, knowing the signs of trip wires and traps to scare away sticky fingers, but no thoughtfulness was in place … no pressure plate, no _Midgar Jones_ booby traps… maybe no one else in the world but her, the crew, and the client knew this guy even had it. Did he even know what he had? She pulled down her goggles to around her neck for a less hindered peek, peering a careful grey eye at the exposed ship.

It was impressive, maybe the size of her forearm at wings' length and adored with bronze and silver dials, piping, and other intricate details. A cockpit here, a few propellers there… yeah, it was an airship, whoop-dee-doo. To her, it didn't even look that special, but… They all had to make a living somehow, right?

"Target in sight, securing the objective –" she said quietly, carefully, and after hearing affirmation in her ear from her partner, she slowly reached out with gloved hands.

She froze, swift footsteps, immediately behind her, and a click, something too close to her ears and too close for comfort. She spun, eyes wide, nothing to prepare her for the possibility of intruders, only to find the barrel of a suppressor centimeters away from her hairline and a pair of crimson eyes crystallizing in the moonlight. Eyes almost like hers, on a face stone cold and surrounded in the shadows of black tendrils.

Neither of the two moved, and she barely made a noise except for a panicked, low gasp from her clenched teeth. Far away, she could hear Tifa's worry buzzing in her ear, very distant, but she couldn't focus on that _and_ her pounding heartbeat in her ears. She couldn't speak; hell, she could barely even _breathe_. Both were frozen in time… And then, the world moved again as she flinched backwards, as if her body was finally registering the situation. Her movements were her downfall; her backpack must have extended out _just_ enough to knock into the Sierra model. It shifted between her and the wall, popping it conveniently forward to crash to the floorboards beside her. Despite her imminent death, her rather short life flashing before her eyes, she ripped her eyes from the attacker to the floor.

Ruins laid at her scuffed black boots, pieces impossible to put back together without artist direction. Everything rushed then. And if she wasn't breathing before, she _really_ wasn't breathing now.

She finally heard Tifa. "Yuffie? Yuffie, what's going on?"

However, once again, Tifa's concern was ignored, but now with sudden anger. Burning anger. No one _ever_ sneaks up on her like that. Yuffie Kisaragi, aka professional codename **Leviathan** , aka at home codename **Brat** or **Kid** or as Cid's personal **Giant-Pain-In-The-Ass** , snarled with a rush of new wind, ripping her eyes off the pieces back at… nothing. No one. He was gone. Not a peep from the door nor down the hall. That son of bitch had booked it, quietly and _fast_. This only made her blood boil more. She snarled again, kicking at the broken model once before running both her hands through her hair. Now it was really unrecognizable. "It's nothing, Teef. Nothing at all." She said finally, red in the face, mouth dry. After a deep breath, she sighed. "Mission failed, I'm coming out."

Behind Tifa, a deep, smoke filled grumble cut through rather loudly. "The hell you say," his voice hit three octaves higher, mimicking the girl " _mission failed_ – Just what the hell did you do, girl?"

When she had turned, goggles downward, they should have seen it. Cid's next few explicits were enough to tell her that. But, she ignored Cid, scanning the room again to make sure the silent intruder was really gone. It was not the comforting voice she needed when mistakes are made. It was more frantic and malice fueled, enough to get Tifa to raise her voice back at the man.

Yuffie, on the other hand, pondered.

 _J_ _ust how could this guy get the jump on you?_

She didn't even hear the guy enter, let alone leave… How did he do that? Grey eyes on the ceiling, back toward the door, then to… her eyes froze on the office chair, the world growing rather quiet despite Cid's yelling and Tifa's scolding in her ear. In fact, she pulled the communicator from her ear, finding the eerie silence more comforting in this kind of situation.

Her heart skipped a beat, just when she realized the chair was turned back to the desk, tucked back against the wood as it should be.

* * *

The group took no delay in meeting that night, regardless of the hour. They decided to meet up at Yuffie's two-bedroom apartment, more than enough space for a single resident if she didn't need the space for ten – wait – _eleven_ cats bouncing around the place. But for someone who stole for a living, it wasn't anything more than what she and her cats needed.

Settled in the living room, Tifa had caught a ginger tabby in her lap, coaxing it to settle with scratches under his chin while she sat on the couch. Next to her was Cid, who did not find any sort of affection for the fur balls. He batted away the curious kittens of the clowder, each interested in the stick in his mouth with a brave pat of their paws. He found blowing puffs of smoke their way worked until Yuffie glared and threatened to punch him. By the window, a young woman, blonde hair cropped short and neat and chocolate brown eyes, continued to furiously type away at her laptop, every few minutes needing to push away an inquiring cat that wanted to walk right across her keyboard. It settled to rubbing its chin on the plastic corner, something Elena Harper, aka **Tech-Savvy-Extraordinare** , could deal with for the time being.

The woman in resident, Yuffie, had two cats on each of her sides and a black and white cat stretched across her legs, lounging back in the recliner despite the other cats making it their personal scratching post. Aside from that poor chair, the place was pretty immaculate, not even a trace of cat hair in their paths. Yuffie somehow managed the constant mess and spills that come with a clowder of cats.

When the door opened and closed in the tiny foyer behind them for the final time, Tifa looked up, smiling bright. Entered Cloud Strife, aka **Doom-and-Gloom** by Yuffie, and sometimes, Elena. She still didn't see what Tifa saw in the guy, but that was none of her business if her best friend was happy. As he settled between Cid and Tifa, quickly swamped by a calico finding ownership across his black jeans, Tifa turned to Yuffie.

"Tell Cloud what happened, Yuffie."

And that's what she did, retold the story of her epic break in and how smoothly everything was going up until she was cornered between a rock and a hard place. Not quite that, but something similar. "I don't think I was his target… whoever it was," she said absently with a light shrug, curling her finger under the content cat's chin. While he was at peace, her mind still felt jumbled. "But, he was there before I got there. You all saw how the chair was turned at the window … I just wish it wasn't as dark as it was, or I could have gotten a better look at the guy that made me _break_ that stupid thing." The pieces of her team's millions were still burned in her mind.

From her computer, Elena sighed, moving her eyes from the screen but not pausing her rapid-fire typing. "All we saw was the floor, thanks to you pushing down those goggles I gave you." Yuffie, in response, rolled her eyes, but Elena continued. "And your butt is in luck, so Cid can stop giving you the cold shoulder – the model was a fake." At that, Yuffie did breathe easy, but sent a glare in Cid's direction. He shook his head; that man would find any reason to be annoyed with her. "From that piece you brought back as keepsake, I ran it past a couple of photos and files, but nothing came up as a match. For now, we're in the clear, until we can find another model for the client." Said piece sat on the coffee table in front of them, a large pod with a plastic fisheye lens and a tiny control room within. Yuffie always brought back something from every job, pass or fail.

Cloud crossed his arms over his chest as seriousness washed over him. "So, we're pretty much tied up here, then."

Elena, quiet for a moment, turned back to her computer. "I'm afraid so… The client expects results by the end of the week." The room was silent then, aside from Elena typing away and the purr of careless cats.

A sigh broke the silence and Cloud turned his attention Yuffie, still thoughtlessly scratching away at the cats around her. "Let's get a briefing on this guy's description, anything you can remember and see if Elena can dig something up. Figure out why he was there. Until then, we'll find another model, and pray this one is nearby and real enough to get paid and off the hook. Agreed?" A collective agreement murmured among them, and Yuffie quickly remembered Cloud was aka **Bossy Pants** , as well.

* * *

Yuffie was never the best at descriptions. Aside from rare, enhanced crimson eyes and black as night hair ("Well, it _was_ really dark…" she mumbled. The other woman heavily rolled her eyes and closed her laptop.), Elena did not have enough to run a decent search. At least, not something worthwhile in this amount of time. With the growing trend of enhancements and augmentations sweeping the country now, it was entirely possible this guy would not be wearing the same face he had the night before. Too many crime organizations had the spare cash for that kind of stuff. And assuming he was part of such, this would be a viable option.

Rather dwell on a subject with no leads, the group took their leave in turn, the last being Cloud and Tifa… though, it was more of Cloud waiting outside and Tifa saying good bye alone. The older woman smiled warmly at her best friend, wrapping those comforting, strong arms around her tiny shoulders.

"We'll figure out who snuck up on you eventually." She said, mumbling as her chin sat perfectly on the top of Yuffie's head. She gave a tight squeeze and pulled away. "But don't worry too much about it, okay?" The woman paused, turning that warm smile into something somewhat stern. The way Tifa's eyebrows knitted together reminded her too much of her mom. "Don't lose sleep over it or even think of looking for this guy on your own, alright?"

At that, Yuffie, of course, rolled her eyes. "Yes, _mooom_ ," she drawled. She looked annoyed for a moment, but couldn't help but grin. "Don't worry. I'm fine."

The two shared parting words and as the clock struck 11, Yuffie was alone with her cats. The apartment was always too quiet when her friends left, something she sort of hated about living on her own. But every time she remembered the state of Elena's wire jungle house, the clouds of smoke literally hanging the air of Cid's loft, or the love nest of Tifa and Cloud, she hugged her cats just a bit closer and appreciated the silence.

Sleep did not come to the girl, at least, not right away. Something continued to gnaw at her, something with red eyes and a metal hand, _someone_ she would really love to forget. But, after several hours of no results, she slipped from the cat prison (despite protesting meows) and blankets and crept into the other bedroom, a sort of makeshift office, art room, and junk space kind of room.

The room illuminated with a light, orange glow from the desk lamp, revealing a mess of things in every corner. Cluttered boxes of unpacking that would never get finished, a collection of house plants hidden away from the fury of claws and bored kittens, and a desk, cluttered with sketchbooks, easels, paints, pencils, oils – an artist's dream, if she could be called anything as such. For her, it was an escape, just a moment to get away from problems and worried thoughts. Tonight would be no different; insomnia hit her at the worst times… Visions of the man with the gun pointed directly at her face did not help, either.

But where words had failed her before, this was a moment to collect herself, breathe, and think. She mounted a small easel and sketchbook, picked up a piece of charcoal and just sketched, sketched until she got his jawline right, the curve of his brows, the striking stare of his eyes… His hair was tied back, wasn't it? She sketched until sleep overtook her and she ended up drooling over the confusion of scrap papers all over the desk, leaving a near-perfect rendition of the man who may haunt her dreams forever.

* * *

Several hours earlier, a rather tall man, dressed in a classic black suit, white dress shirt pressed and tucked perfectly under a crisp black tie, exited the manor, out into the darkness as the clouds rolled over the moon once more. He had already stashed away his pistol, unhinged from the suppressor and pocketed in his jacket. What happened back there was not part of any briefing, any plan he would expect, rather, it was the wrong place at the wrong time. Either him or the girl. Someone screwed up immensely, but his criticism would come after debriefing. The man, descending the long, brick driveway hidden between a path of pines, pulled out a flip phone from his pocket, dialing a single digit and waiting with it pressed to his ear.

It rang once, then connected. A cheerful voice on the other end, polite, dignified even. Someone was excited to get a phone call this late at night. "How'd it go, Vincent?"

"The mark was not here." He said simply, quietly, casting a careful crimson eye back at the shrinking manor behind him.

The cheeriness dropped as seriousness grew. Noisily, papers were shifted, then a bit of silence before annoyance. "That's not possible – we had clear info 'the mark' would be back tonight."

"He was not, Reeve. But," he paused for a moment, choosing words carefully. Should he mention his brief interaction with the girl? This could compromise everything he and the group worked for, especially ruining any form of anonymity the job required. But, as he spotted his vehicle parked inconspicuously on the street a block down, he noted the darkness, the shadows and clouds cloaking any sort of light to identify him. There was no way she saw his face with his back to the window. Her glance, large, hurricane grey eyes staring back at him, the way her dark hair and swept bangs framed her youthful face; he would remember her face, thanks to that fading light. And it made his stomach clench uncomfortably, _unfamiliarly_. She looked shocked, scared. It was not a fond memory to have of someone he did not know. But at the same time, why should he care? He would probably never cross paths with this woman again. With that, his mind was made up.

"But…?" Reeve said, breaking the silence and turbulent thoughts.

He was always quick to come up with something, "the client will not be pleased knowing we failed." He climbed into a sleek black car, windows completely tinted and reflective. The engine roared to life in the softest way possible and as he pulled the car out into the street, the call was switched over to hands-off. "I suggest we reorganize, evaluate the specifics, and stop allowing Reno Sinclair run our consultations." He said, rather coldly. Despite the time of night and lack of drivers, he still drove careful and to the law, something that annoyed his colleagues when they joined for a ride. It was even more reason to work alone, something he took great pride in. He _flourished_ on his own.

Through the car stereo, Reeve sighed. "You're right, Vincent, per usual… Take the night off and we'll regroup tomorrow evening." When Vincent didn't say anything, Reeve quickly continued. "And, I'll personally be present this time, with Reno not anywhere near the files. Okay?"

All the man did was murmured affirmation and ended the call, ignored his clenched stomach and praying his dreams would be plagued with the usual nightmares and not the girl's face.


	2. The Usual Suspects

_**A/N: Just a couple of things to note...**_

1\. You may not have noticed, but I brought down the rating from 'M' to just 'T.' I don't think there will be anything to worry about besides some cursing, blood, broken bones, etc. for future chapters. No sexual content here, folks, sorry.

2\. Another note, and something I will post back in the first chapter – I will update every _**Friday**_.

3\. Lastly, I really appreciate the reviews and follows thus far. Thank you!

Okay, that's all. **Read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

The pained meows of hungry mouths at the door woke her from dreamless sleep; the kink in her neck and amount of dried saliva stuck to her face meant it was not an enjoyable night. The memories were a trickle. Yuffie groaned loudly, slowly leaning back and stretching all the tense muscles clenching at her skin. She would not tell Tifa about this; the woman would kill her if she found out that sleep came easier sitting in an old, rickety chair rather than the comfort of her bed. Blurring away the sleep from her eyes, she blinked at the drawing in front of her, nearly forgetting about the incident from the night before. Now, the memories were a flood. The woman sighed, observing her work for a moment. It wasn't perfect, but it based on what she saw in the dark, it wasn't too far off… Similar Wutaian-descent eyes, narrow clenched jaw… She swiftly flipped the book closed before those piercing eyes could worm anymore into her mind.

The day would be spent looking for another model, a _real one_ this time. Based on the amount of light lingering into her apartment, it was nearly noon. Elena would be calling – A ringing from her bedroom, a techy tone the woman created herself, echoed through the walls. Right on cue. She sprang from room to room to answer on the third ring, taking a belly flop over pillows and blankets. "H-Hello?"

Of course, Yuffie could hear the smirk on Elena's lip. "Nice to see you up and early, _princess_." Nothing could get past the other woman, especially the poor sleep in Yuffie's voice. Luckily for her, this wasn't Tifa, who would have extra choice words over the reason for calling. Just a touch of mockery was enough. "I doubt you'll read my texts, so I'll just jump into it now." In the background, she could hear the light taps of Elena working. In fact, with Yuffie's eyes skimming to the nightstand clock, Elena _was_ still at work. "I was able to find another Sierra model when it was pretty much dropped into my lap this morning. No doubt I would have found it on my own, but," she paused, probably allowing a coworker to walk by her desk without giving anything away. Her voice lowered a bit. "There's this gala being held for the big, big donors of the Meteorfall Museum of History, celebrating all they have accomplished because of their rather _generous_ contributions. These things are usually just a big drunken party for people with money, but at a museum dedicated to the most significant war in Gaia history?"

A smile spread on Yuffie's lips, eagerness growing as she cut in, "People with money like to show they _have_ it."

"Exactly," Elena said, her own smile growing. "A very peculiar and wealthy Rufus Shinra plans on making a _grand_ appearance with none other than the very model warship his grandfather commandeered in the great war…"

Yuffie breathed, "the Sierra." It's like relief literally washed over her. Just another thing off her shoulders. "This is great, Elena, thanks a million. Now Cloud will actually crack a smile for once and Cid will get off my ass abo –" there was silence on the other end. Too much unlike the woman. Yuffie paused and blinked. "What is it?"

"Ah, well – …" Elena waited, hesitant. This was too familiar, running along the lines of discomforted Yuffie both mentally and physically. She knew she wasn't going to like the sound of this.

Her smile faded and she sighed, asking a question she did not need an answer for. "What do I have to do?" Yuffie said rather dully, somehow ignoring the kittens that had taken refuge across her back. The weight was somehow less than Elena's next few words.

"You're going to need to go undercover for this one…"

"No!" Yuffie's outward, near deafening groan was enough for Elena to pull her face away from the receiver and cover it with her palm. "Nope! Nada! You know I hate playing dress up, Elena! Why can't you just make Boobs take care of this? She's always good at the shake and bake…" When silence responded, Yuffie's eyebrows furrowed together. "Hello?! I'm arguing with you here!"

"I-I know, I know, but listen," Elena went into panic mode, reciting her rebuttal a bit more frantically than she originally thought out a couple minutes before. "With the high risk of this job, it won't just be _you_ in the field this time. We're going to need everyone up and ready, even Cid will play a part… Just keep me in your ear and I can walk you through everything, just like before."

Yuffie quickly remembered _before_ , which definitely turned out to be failure. Ironically, the loud, rambunctious, courageous kid had a bit of stage freight. Yuffie made herself a laughing stock at an underground casino and Tifa had to excessively explain her strange personality from food poisoning. The night ended with Yuffie knocking out a guy's tooth, too many spilled drinks, and Tifa needing to pull her out over her shoulder when guns started blazing. They barely walked away with their lives, but managed to take a good amount of dough in the process. The woman vowed never again to try any sort of acting; she was better with her hands, the dirty kind of work. She always said she never played a better character than herself.

"Just be yourself this time and you'll do just fine," Elena said, weakly pushing some reassurance in the girl. Like it was that easy. "We'll figure something out for your _façade_ later, but in the meantime," and with a few clicks on her computer, Yuffie's phone reacted. "I'm sending you the docs on the event and blueprints of the museum. I've listened in to a couple of direct calls between patrons and the museum, and it sounds like the entire lobby will be rented out just for the gala. If we learn about the paths around it, we can get in and get out before you have to open your mouth to anyone but us."

Yuffie desperately prayed that would be the case. "Fine." She mumbled sourly, "I'll see you tonight at _**Tifa's**_."

* * *

 _ **Tifa's**_ really meant the bar, _Seventh Heaven,_ the front for majority of their money laundering. And since it was a rather busy establishment in an extended peak season, no one ever batted an eye at their annual forms. Yuffie proved to be a good waitress, Tifa an excellent bartender, and Cloud a serious bouncer. Cid worked on his own in his mechanic shop a couple of blocks down the street, making a great location to hide their getaway vehicles and make necessary repairs when need be. Money spread there, too, but not often. Elena also worked outside this scheme, as well, managing thousands of accounts across the city and continent in technical information security. Her day to day was building programs and safeguards behind firewalls, landing pages, and servers. If only her management knew she was everything they protected their clients from. She had a perfectly clean record, however – she knew how to cover her tracks better than anyone Yuffie knew, which helped when the rest of them needed to go into hiding from time to time.

Their more elusive, dangerous lifestyles needed safety nets like that. Yuffie couldn't think of the last time Elena wasn't able to bail her out of jail or something much more troubling behind the scenes. Tifa was always by her side in person, but Elena really pulled the strings in the background. Cloud directed all of it, though. Every job, every payment, every order. If you needed to answer to someone, it would be him. Brawn, brains, a smile that drove women (and men) crazy – he was a perfect combination, a triple threat. He almost made _too_ good of a leader, but Yuffie wasn't about to complain and make Cid leader. And she sure wasn't going to start calling the shots. Their next best bet if Cloud threw in the towel was Tifa, who was just as smart, strong, and beautiful, if not more, than Doom-and-Gloom. She'd done it before, she would do it again – before Cloud even walked into the _crime_ picture three years back, it was just Yuffie and Teef and Laney. Cid came a little after Cloud with recommendation, and they've been a weird, mismatched group ever since. And all because Tifa couldn't lie to her beau about her interesting collection of abstract art and marble statues.

"Sorry, boys, but last call for tonight," a collection of moans and groans erupted from the table, but Yuffie grinned and collected the glasses between them. "Us ladies need our personal days, too. Head home before you-know-who start callin' the business line, again." A shared look of anxiety and fear struck the men and they silently, but collectively agreed. No use getting the missus in a fuss. Others caught the hint and the rest of the bar was cleaning out quite nicely, except for a group in the back corner, fuming up some sort of storm between them. With the noise of drunks and music crowding out the door, this table's arguments were echoing against the walls. She hadn't seen them walk in, but by the collection of drinks across the table, they had been managing on their own just fine without her. Yuffie, collecting tabletop tips on her way over, sighed. There were always a stubborn bunch at last call. "Don't mean to cut your lovely discussion short, but we're closing up for the night."

They looked up, well, the two facing her did. A man with hot-red hair, tied back in a ridiculous ponytail shot her a dark look, glaring green orbs. The other, a serious Wutaian man with jet black hair, cold black eyes, also tossed her a less than pleased look. She didn't even notice the two others sitting with their backs to her; they did not turn around.

"We're talkin' here, _princess_ – go away." The man with red hair said, rather bitterly. The rest of the table remained silent. Not only was he annoyed this girl was interrupting his argument, it was an argument he was _losing._ Being the girl that she was with the skills she possessed, Yuffie was particularly good at dealing with losers and asses. The young woman smiled, something sweet, but not enough to sugarcoat what she said.

"If you'd like me to use your smartass tongue to clean up the vomit off table 11, be my guest and keep yappin'." One of the men in front of her laughed gently, his shoulders slightly shaking. It must have been from the anxious look that crossed hothead's face. Even the Wutaian man leaned back, a bit surprised. Her expression faded to something jaded, her stormy eyes glaring. And with a wad of cash in her left fist on her hip, she jabbed her right thumb backwards over her shoulder. "That's what I thought… Now, beat it."

That got them moving, though it still took a bit more coaxing… especially with Yuffie's smug expression as hothead decided to send another glance her way. He glared and readied to say something foul in passing, but she had turned on her heel to finish cleaning up. She missed a somewhat familiar face as he pushed him back toward the door with a stern demeanor. Tifa, behind the bar and wiping down a set of mugs, watched silently. It takes a good barkeep to know her patrons, but these men were new. An average sized, well-groomed man with a crinkle in his eye and a tall man with raven black hair. She couldn't catch his eyes, but she swore on Wutaian descent, not as striking as the other raven haired man tailing behind them. Hothead was a normal customer, but he found company in lonely, young women, not expensively dressed businessmen. What an odd collection of people…

Yuffie stared at her a bit mystified, setting down the rest of the dirty glasses. "What's up?"

Tifa's wine eyes pulled from what she was doing and she smiled, warmly, but wearily. "I sure hope Reno wasn't giving you any trouble. He's a dick, but pretty harmless." When Yuffie shrugged, Tifa mentally kicked herself – Yuffie had been taking care of herself for the last 10 years. She didn't care and she never would what a man, or anyone, said to her. Instead of dwelling on that subject, she motioned her head, "come back and help me finish these before the gang gets here."

The two shared the peace and quiet just washing up. A few minutes later, Cloud came through after a last-minute sweep to the front, locking the tavern door before a drunk or two forgot they couldn't come back for seconds. And as the last mug was packed into the dishwasher, Cid and Elena arrived right on cue, though there was a bit of discourse that broke the comfortable silence. Tifa sighed, Yuffie rolled her eyes, and Cloud attempted to referee.

"There is absolutely no way in Hell yer gettin' me to wear a monkey suit, Laney." Cid grumbled as they passed through from the back, settling onto barstools without even thinking twice about it. "I didn't even wear a goddamn jacket and tie to my own weddin'."

Yuffie sent a look to Tifa, who shared a very similar look back. A story they heard all the time, especially from a man very proud to tell it _all the time_.

"But for this to _actually_ work," Elena said pointedly, setting up her laptop on the cleanest part of the bar top, "we're going to need everyone on board. That includes getting you in a tuxedo… Unless you want to play valet with some teenagers, then be my guest."

Cid made a grumbling noise similar to a goat, pulling out a brand-new pack of cigarettes to nervously tear open. It wasn't an argument he would win and he knew it. Elena was too persistent with her plans and Cloud was just as convincing when it came to Elena's judgement. The girl had too much fire power, per usually.

"I wrote up your bios and printed your IDs for the gala – Tifa and Cloud will particularly enjoy theirs," Elena passed the said two their individual cards, earning a hot blush across Cloud's cheeks and a giggle from Tifa. "Say hello to Mr. and Mrs. Holcomb, power couple of Holcomb Industries. Your talking points are: you manage weaponry manufacturing off-shore of Junon, any overzealous adjective you can think of is your next big project, and you're too busy working for any sort of children. Just be arrogant and beautiful and you guys will do just fine." Elena then turned to Cid, who still looked sour. "Don't look so glum, you might like this." She slid him his ID card, which looked more like a worker's badge. "Jack Belvin, bodyguard."

His sourpuss glare melted and he breathed a smoke cloud of relief, "thank Bahamut's ass – you're really doin' me a solid, Laney."

She waved his hand at him, "you say that now…" She ignored his sudden puzzled expression. "Nothing, nothing. Just do your job and keep a look out, like you do best, right?"

That left Yuffie, who sort of hoped she'd go forgotten. The girl remained silent, hiding behind a set of mugs twice looked over. But by the less than eager expression Elena's brow and the curious look across Tifa's face, she couldn't possibly be forgotten. Elena didn't pull out an ID card or badge, but an intricate envelope, trimmed with gold and adorned with fancy print. The blonde, for a moment, said nothing but slid her the envelope. When Yuffie finally looked up, the room was still, all watching. When Yuffie glared menacingly at the envelope, Elena sighed. "As it turns out, Yuffie already has a way in, as a personal guest to the gala."

All that Yuffie wanted then was to disappear forever or die in some hole. With all eyes on her, _all of the attention seeping through her pores, worming their way into her heart, her soul_ – it made her feel sick. It also caused disillusions probably not there – Cid was judging her _again_ , Cloud was staring, disappointed, disgruntled, _angry,_ Tifa looked sad… she always looked _sad_. Elena was probably scheming up something wild to do with her, a personal play thing – her eyes danced on all their faces and she shook her head, throwing down a sopping wet towel over the pretty invitation. This was her way of saying, 'there is absolutely no way in Hell I am going, not like this.' In reality, however, Elena's attention turned to the worried shake of Tifa's eyes, a nervous twitch that always alerted her sisterly/motherly instincts. Cid looked mad, but not in the way that would say he was directing it at Yuffie. Cloud looked displeased, but for another reason as well. The blonde smiled a bit – if only Yuffie knew what she truly had here.

"I suppose a bit of explaining is in order, but this could work to our advantage, Yuffie." Elena said, breaking the tense air. She took a moment to click away at her laptop to pull up a few things. "Godo Kisaragi has made numerous contributions to the Wutai exhibition, but in a recent statement, he confirmed he would not be attending the Museum's event, rather…" Elena paused, eyeing Yuffie carefully. For someone who wanted nothing to do with her dad, the Prime Minister of Wutai, she looked sort of curious. The others leaned in, too. Elena spoke cautiously. "Rather… he said he would really enjoy seeing his daughter make an appearance at the gala, in name of Wutai and its people and history."

Everyone leaned back, putting their attention back on Yuffie, but just as one emotion fell away, another rose quickly. The girl was _smiling, laughing_ even. _Laughing a lot._ All the previous expressions that dawned their faces were replaced with confusion, sharing it with each other with raising eyebrows and shrugs. The girl, pulling herself from the laughing fit, finally shook her head. "Gods, my old man is so lame!" She pulled the rag from off the envelope and opened it coolly, picking apart the wax seal and adhesive to leave the papers in shreds. While skimming the card, she mumbled to no one in particular, "takes Godo to make a _public statement_ just to get me out of the shadows, eh? He should know better –…" She raised her eyes from the paper, grinning wildly. "I might just tarnish his name for the fun of it and make a _public statement_ of my own." She then passed the invitation to the curious Tifa, who took it quickly to look over the details. With that, they had a better idea of how to get in and when exactly the gala was starting.

Elena returned to her laptop, allowing Yuffie to chatter away aimlessly while she started up a mock invitation for the other "guests." She had a small smirk on her face, her 'know-it-all' smirk, that caused Yuffie to lean over her screen and narrow her eyes. Elena shrugged, pushing Yuffie's face back with a single finger on her forehead. "You said it yourself, Yuffie. You can never play a better character than yourself."

* * *

Reno was only two drinks in and he was literally swaying down the avenue, still griping about that stupid waitress and stupid Tseng and how much he hated this and that and – Vincent shook his head while Reeve continued to snicker. Why on Gaia did he allow such fools into his life? The only sane one among them, other than himself, was Tseng, a stone-cold demeanor still etched into his brow. He was probably thinking the same thing, but was much more expressive about it. As serious as he was, he did not perfect masking as well as Vincent Valentine.

Why was he out here again?

Reno suggested a drink ("I know this great place down the road, where the ladies are hot and the drinks are _endless!_ "), Reeve assumed it was _bonding_ , Tseng wanted to pull away from paperwork… Vincent, per usual, wanted to be alone, but being a popular contact in Reeve's cellular device and a favorite target of annoyance of Reno, he couldn't possibly say no more than twice. And now, they were pushed out on to the streets, wandering back to the office after just an hour of leaving it. Meetings would keep them later. Vincent, even longer, after putting off his own debriefing for another day.

Reeve, once again, had to pull on Reno's arm, turning him back toward their path. The redhead got the _same old idea_ in his head and was about to teach that _princess_ a lesson, but Reeve was a good mediator. He simply distracted the man with other antics long enough to get them farther and farther. The fifteen minute tug-of-war back to the bureau was more eventful than their outing, and it was about to get much more interesting when silver-haired, cat-eyed Sephiroth Crescent was waiting for the group in the lobby, looking less than pleased. In fact, he looked like he was going to crack a tooth his jaw was clenched so tightly.

Reno sobered up fast, shoving Reeve's supportive shoulders to show he was _fine._ The others straightened accordingly, except for Vincent – he stared directly at the man's bitter expression, either not swayed by his cold demeanor or defiantly to stand his ground. It was too hard to say with his usual mask.

"You're late," Sephiroth said, his green, enhanced eyes glimmered with annoyance, eyes darting to each of their faces until they stopped on Vincent's, still unmoved. "Head up to the third-floor conference room immediately." Reno, instantly taking that as pity, took off for the elevator. Reeve smiled kindly at his superior with respect, nodding his head as he passed after Reno. Tseng and Vincent shared the same courtesy, walking calmly by with their heads raised. But just as Vincent got two steps away, Sephiroth spoke. "A word, Valentine." The man stopped, but did not turn around, neither did the other. The lobby was cleared as the elevator doors closed.

"I always hear a great deal about your perfect record, especially from your colleagues." Sephiroth began, eyes staring forward for a moment before turning over his shoulder. "And yet, a rumor in the midst says you failed your last assignment… Care explaining why you were not where you said you would be?" The words echoed against the walls, more so, against Vincent's mind.

Though his crimson eyes widened just a hair, he was quick to respond. "My report will show that Reno Sinclair provided me with the wrong intel, an observation made by myself and confirmed by Reeve Tuesti after it was too late." And, without pausing, Vincent started walking back toward the elevator. "You'll see it on your desk tomorrow morning." The elevator dinged, allowing Vincent entrance and concealment immediately, as if purposely ignoring the suspicious, glaring stare of Sephiroth as the doors closed.


	3. Black Tie Affair

**_A/N:_** I actually proofed this one? That is so unlike me…

Anyway, a huge thank you to every that has reviewed and favorited! I really thrive on support. You guys are amazing.

* * *

Setting down the makeup brush, she stared at the mirror, seeing a less recognizable girl staring back; long lashes, a hint of rouge to bring out her cheek bones, a ruby red lining her lips. Being a child in the spotlight for so long leaves a lasting impression in skill, especially with her mother coordinating her look and attire. It was so easy, then, but death affects people and changes everything in a blink of an eye. Reflecting on that, she did not pick makeup on her own very well… The young woman let out a sigh and rose from the vanity to dress.

A few minutes later, she emerged from her bedroom, picking up the ends of her midnight strapless gown to avoid the lively, trailing kittens at her toes. And aside from the cats, she wasn't alone; Tifa and Cloud stood waiting in the foyer, catching a glimpse of Yuffie's leg through the high slit of her dress. Cloud cat-called and Tifa laughed.

"Lookin' like a million gil, Yuffs," Cloud said, smiling, too. Tifa nodded in agreement as the girl scrambled into less-than-sensible heels. The young woman waved her hand at them.

"Yeah, yeah, it's nothing special." Once all her toes were in secured, she stood straight up and admired her friends. Cloud, per usual, looked dashing in a dark grey suit and blood red tie. Tifa, per usual as well, looked beautiful in a matching red gown, soft-feathery straps sitting perfectly on her shoulders. Her hair braided, coiled on the side of her head with careful threads of hair framing her face. Yuffie smiled back at them, "you two look great! … Though, I think Tifa should let the girls out a bit more." She said, pointing very obviously to Tifa's chest. When the woman looked down, her face flashed red, but Yuffie continued. "They can't breathe there!" Barking a laugh, Tifa just scoffed and turned for the door; Cloud shook his head and followed in suit. It took a moment to contain her snickering and just another moment to realize they were gone. Yuffie rolled her eyes and shrugged her shoulders to no one. Kids these days didn't know a good joke if it hit them in the face.

On her way out, she passed her collections shelf, a sort of decoration setup she had of all her treasures and stolen valuables. The fake-Sierra pod was there, too, though on a much lower level with the more cheaper knick-knacks. She reached for a glittering white rose hair clip, a symbol of her status and her country, and a symbol of her mother. After fashioning it over her right ear, she hit the lights. "Be good, kitties. Jinx is in charge while I'm gone!" A single meow echoed in response, then a few more, as if discourse had broken out. She smiled to herself and heard their worried cries all the way down the paved stairs to the waiting cars.

* * *

The event was more of a high-profile affair than the gang prepped for. As in, crowds of people were roped off against a maroon carpet runway. Tifa swore she could hear the yelling and excitement all the way down the block. Cars lined up to the valet out front, attendants opening the doors to classy and expensive vehicles. Celebrities, athletes, corporate big shots and high rollers stepped onto the scene, and the crowd cheered in delight and glittered with flashes of light. Up the paved stairs with more exclusivity, reporters waved their microphones to grab your attention. They talked fast, real fast. "So, who are you wearing this evening? What contributions did you make this year? What exciting project are you working on for the upcoming season?" More paparazzi, those with exclusive passes to the event, stood where one lucky shot could make them millions. The camera clicks (and their very eager "Hey, look over here!") could be heard just as you passed the massive threshold of the building.

It was a lineup of excitement Tifa and Cloud could handle. Smile, laugh, look like you're having a good time. Make a toast if you have to. Yet, when Cloud caught the weak glance in Tifa's wine-colored eyes, he reached for her hand on her lap. Her shoulders shrugged a bit and she cracked a smile. "I'm just worried about Yuffie… You know how she gets with crowds." Cloud shared a knowing smile back, unconsciously sweeping his thumb over her hand.

"She's the bravest kid I know, braver than the most of us. She'll figure it out just fine." It was just a bit of confidence to ease her worries, but nothing he'd say would actually change anything. Yuffie would have to figure this part of the plan all on her own. She said nothing, eyes skimming back to the lining crowds as their fancy car pulled up to the curb. And just as a man dressed in an attendant's uniform opened their door, their confident façades came up.

Several cars back, Yuffie sat soundlessly alone in the back of a sleek limousine. The driver had tried to make conversation, but she was so focused on her own worries that her knuckles ran white, hands coiled tightly over her lap. The man finally coughed, pulling the girl from her thoughts. "I hope you don't mind me sayin', but you seem a bit nervous." He grumbled, aiming a careful eye back over his shoulder while not quite taking his glance off the road. She mumbled, not quite a yes, but not a no, either. "Ah, I understand," he said, a small crinkle by his eye showing that he was smiling. It was probably because of her surprised expression, a glow in her grey eyes. "Just a touch of advice for you, if you don't mind?" He waited, she shook her head slowly, and he continued. "I tell my kids this all the time when they are scared or nervous – no one else knows what they're doing either… And more than half the time, it's true!" He smiled and said nothing more, pulling the vehicle carefully toward the curb as the next in line.

His words immediately struck her as odd – how in the world could that be true? But, when her eyes turned toward the crowds, she could see it: panicked faces of overworked attendants and reporters and cameramen. They carried some sort of mask, though, especially when they saw the next car. Maybe it was just an act for everyone, and all she had to do was play out the scene along with them… _you play yourself_ _ **best**_ … A sense of confidence rolled across her shoulders and she finally grinned, uncoiling her hands to stretch her tensed fingers. A chuckle escaped her lips, "thanks."

Without notice, the car door was opened and eager, curious cheering echoed in her ears. She took a deep breath and stepped out into the limelight.

It took her several minutes to politely scoot by reporters and cameramen to get inside the venue. Some recognized her almost immediately, crowding around her to get their scoop. Most of it was dodging questions, questions that pressed her knowledge a little _too_ thin. How in Gaia would she know what was going on in Wutai? This year's economy? Or the most popular trends, fads, and celebrities? The woman didn't even look up Wutai in the World News. So, she prayed the weak look on her face didn't tell them she hadn't been home in more than five years. In fact, she was pretty surprised the news hadn't leaked that the esteemed Kisaragi child had been gallivanting around the mainland for the last couple years… Yet, she managed to stomp down her discomfort and smile civilly, offering a statement or two that would make her father and her home look, somewhat, respectable.

Once through the archways and down an extended lobby, the crowd was dispersed into either cliques of admired guests and welcoming wait staff, and the noise and chaos of outside had dissipated. Instead, some sort of classy live music drifted through the air, lightly echoing through rafters and colorful banners high above their heads. Down the middle and all the way into the main exhibit room, chandeliers hung downward, acting as beacons of glittering light. The young woman did everything in her power not to roll her eyeballs right out of her head; just about everything here screamed upper class entitlement and authority, a life she tried to turn her back on. But, she continued her confident, governing walk as she passed through the lobby alone, taking in the landscape with a careful eye and good memory.

Elena's blueprint of the building was pretty spot on; just at the edge of the lobby and main exhibit room were two stairways on each side, both leading up to an open second floor that extended out to frame the entire main room. Beneath the protruding second floor were pillars, giving some shadowed space for guests to sit away from the noise and festivities before being dragged back into it all. The layout of the main room, however, was just a bit different than she was briefed on. Displays had been shifted to the walls, making room for guests, tables, and festivities. A stage with royal blue curtains was set up at the back, giving elevation to strings and brass musicians to play out the night. Majority of the circular tables were shifted to the middle and back of the room, each numbered, decorated, and lined with about 12 chairs. Elena had said something about this turning into a speaking event and pointed out the number on her invitation. She was sitting at table number 1. Tifa and Cloud at table 5. Cid at table 11. A brief scan of the number cards and she found that each were pretty close to one another. Hers was at the very front, almost like it was the most important one there.

Before anything, though, Yuffie took no hesitation against going for the alcohol, approaching a tall waiter dressed in white at the base of the stairs. No words needed, she picked a complimentary champagne glass and strolled away, looking for familiar faces through the crowds and conversing groups here and there. She almost immediately spotted Tifa and Cloud standing together, talking amongst a small group of dignified men and women. And just like their real lives, Tifa was doing most of the talking. Cloud was usually uneasy in these kinds of situations and it was pretty evident when an older woman touched his shoulder in laughter. Yuffie then spotted Elena standing alone against the second floor railings, looking down behind the lens of a camera. The young woman took on a photographer role, not just for the event and museum, but for their own benefit. She promised these pictures could be helpful for _anything_. With another quick sip of her bubbly, her grey eyes skirted the rest of the faces. Everyone but Cid was accounted for… where the hell was he?

"Well, well, well – if it isn't the _princess_ ," said a voice that particularly made Yuffie's skin crawl. And not just now, but pretty much all the time. She did everything in her power not to snap the glass she had in her hand.

"Isn't this kind of thing out of your paygrade, Reno?" She turned, shooting the redhaired man daggers as he grinned at her. He was dressed, per usual, in a dark suit, still ditching the tie she assumed was required for his job. Evidentially, he was still just as much of an ass when he was sober, though he was fisting a bottle of something too large to be served just to just one guest. "What are you even doing here?" Yuffie scowled, eyes narrowing as he came closer.

"Hey, now! No need for harsh feelings! … I suppose I could be asking you the same, but your _little_ entrance made you look like ya own the place." He knocked back the rest of the foamy liquid and _graciously_ placed the bottle on a passing wait staff's tray, ignoring the surprised glance as he turned back to Yuffie. She looked mad, and this made him smile. "I feel like we got off on the wrong foot, sweetheart… Don't cha think?" He took another step forward, towering over her by several inches. Unmoved, she stared up at him, then crossed her arms.

This Reno was _maybe_ a tad different than the night before, grinning smugly at Yuffie's unchanged annoyance. She mused that just as long as she wasn't keeping him from the liquor, he'd be somewhat pleasant… Pleasant as in coherent, not fun to be around. He snaked his arm over her bare shoulders and cocked his head to gathering partners dancing in front of the stage. "How about I buy you a drink? Ya know, to make up for the other night?"

Yuffie was honestly ready to take that arm and flip the grown man right over her shoulder. In fact, with her clenched jaw and shifting motion, maybe he'd catch the hint before it was too late for him. But, something caught her attention – not something, _someone_ , just as the crowd parted perfectly across the room. It wasn't Tifa's nervous blink or Cloud's glaring blues when they spotted Reno getting too friendly, nor was it finally catching where Cid had been hiding, standing infuriated behind a little old woman with her tiny dog in his arms. From across the room, past the waiters, the tables, the dancing couples… It was the critical, livid eyes made of crimson, not quite like fire, but burning all the same. It prickled at her skin, raised the tiny hairs on the back of her neck, ran that cold shiver down her spine. They were eyes she would not, could not, forget. And with that, she made a choice.

Without a word, she slipped out from Reno's arm and moved forward, skirting by people as fast as her gown and heels could let her. Reno, on the other hand, stood dumbfounded, "Oi! Kisaragi? Where you off to?" His eyes danced across the room, then complete infuriation struck him when he found a particular set of crimson eyes on him. "Just what are you gawking at?"

* * *

Rewind to about thirty minutes before and Reno was just as annoyed, if not more. He had already tossed his tie, undid the collar, and actually lost some buttons. Anymore squirming and he'd be out of his clothes completely and that was a particular sight neither of them wanted to see. He had already interrupted Reeve twice, once with a groan of aggravation, the second with a question asking why the hell they were heading to this 'shindig' anyway. "If you just shut up and listen, you'll know what's going on." Reeve said, glaring at him from the rearview mirror. Next to him, Vincent watched silently, carefully, studying the crowds as they drove past. "We are joining Rufus Shinra as personal safeguards, as watchful eyes to make sure everything and _everyone_ is in line, okay?"

"And, why did the big boss decide to come to this thing?" Reno sat up, taking up the space in between Reeve and Vincent for ultimate contact. It earned a side-eyed glare from Vincent, but he quickly lost interest. "Last time I checked, big boss doesn't come to these kinds of things."

Reeve looked at him twice, stunned, "why are you not buckled up?" When the redhead just stared at him lamely, he sighed, looking back to the road as they turned into a private lot behind the building. "He has been very generous in the development and expansion of the museum. Not only is he a gracious donor, he is the museum's _largest_ donor. I'd be surprised if his picture _wasn't_ hanging in their breakroom."

Killing the engine, Reno fidgeted out the car and Vincent followed silently. Out of the eyes of paparazzi and reporters, Reeve chose the inconspicuous parking lot behind the building. Reno still looked like a poor kid dragged through hours of endless grocery shopping until Reeve mentioned his favorite phrase. "Not to mention the alcohol…" Why else would Reeve come, too? With that, Reeve handed Vincent the car keys, knowing full well that he could not be trusted after a glass of wine or two.

Reeve continued his briefing as they crowded in through the back door, stepping carefully as they passed through a corridor of storage boxes and relics not pretty enough for a display. "Tseng and Sephiroth will be arriving with Rufus within the hour. You know how he is with these kinds of things, but that gives us some time to scope the place out, devise a plan of exit if need be. They should stay by him for the entire night, but anything could happen…" Several doors later, they were entering just left of the stage, where the band was setting up for another song. Reno breathed a whistle and Vincent glanced upward at the giant chandelier in the middle. They stuck close and Reeve lowered his voice. "Reno, you and Vincent will be posted down here. Pretend to mingle and blend in, but you shouldn't have any problem with that. I'll stay upstairs and keep you both updated if anything comes up." Reno was already eyeing the bar, half listening until Reeve snapped his fingers in his face. "Last thing, and I'm talking to you, Reno. Do not, under any circumstance, evoke any of the other guests. These people are very powerful and could make our lives extremely difficult if we anger or upset them. Just, please put your best behavior forward for the night. Please."

Against Reeve's pleading glance, Reno just rolled his eyes. " _Maaaan_ , I know how to play it cool! I can schmooze any old fart. Rich people love me!" Even Vincent made a noise of disbelief, walking past silently to get a drink before more guests arrived. Reno glared and tailed him, "Don't think I heard that, Valentine."

Twenty minutes and two drinks later, the event was starting in full swing, powerful and rich people talking and laughing amongst themselves, couples dancing spontaneously to the music, smiles across the room. After brief discussion, his annoying associate was forced to sit far away from him, minimizing any sort of suspicion if one would arise. They would work better spread apart, however… this meant Reno was free to do what he pleased, making it a bothersome sight from across the bar. A couple of young women in elegant gowns sauntered by and Reno was already at their heels. Vincent sighed, sipping at the glass as he tuned in to another conversation to his left. There was nothing out of the ordinary here; perhaps Reeve was wrong to assume any issue with a black tie, invite mandatory event.

His eyes skimmed back across the room. This wasn't a familiar environment for him; solitary and silence were more his style… particularly at night, in the dark, without distractions. Here, he was completely out in the open, exposed in the light of civilians. And at the drop of a hat, anything could happen, and he only knew how to react in specific ways. He nodded when the bartender came by to refill his drink. "Thank you."

A collection of laughs echoed from the other end of the bar, and instead of seeing Reno score with foolish charisma, Vincent saw a somewhat discouraged Reno watch the pretty dressed women stroll away. With someone so often in his ear, causing a whirlwind of chaos for him to clean up, observing the man from a distance was another story. He never paid much attention to the man outside of work, but this could be a unique case. For just a fraction of a second, Reno looked hurt, disheartened even. But, the instant Reno found something to take his mind off of what happened, the old Reno was back, hopping off the stool and heading toward the other end of the room. How often did the man hide behind his expressions? His lunacy? Vincent continued to watch with unfamiliar interest, eyes following Reno's fiery red hair as it bobbed through the crowds of people. When he stopped, Vincent's eyes narrowed. He must have found who or what he was looking for, because he paused, twisting around with a bottle in his hand. The crowd parted at the right moment, and Vincent watched as Reno lace his arm around a small woman's shoulders. For a moment, it looked like she froze, either out of fear or discomfort, but it was too hard to see. However, once again, Reno was creating chaos, a mess Vincent would have to clean up. Reeve's caution flew right over the man's head and this would reflect poorly on his own performance.

Vincent stood abruptly, nearly knocking the stool back and surprising the few people around him at that end of the bar. But their surprise went unnoticed; his eyes just stared toward Reno, narrowed directly on the back of his head until he lost grip on the girl and turned. For the second time that night, he caught a bit of pain in Reno's confusion, but when their eyes met, he looked angry. Angry at _him_. And as he watched Reno's mouth move to noiseless words, he nearly missed the face of the young woman coming right at him.


	4. That Awkward Moment

_**A/N:**_ Once again, a big thank you to everyone who has reviewed and followed this story. I really appreciate your support!

* * *

She caught a fistful of his tie and collar, pulling his face downward to her face. And she stared at him with livid storm cloud grey eyes, electricity brewing behind them. "You!" She ground out, shaking his tie as his head bobbed back and forth. Once again, the people around him looked up, glanced back, all visible expressions of misunderstanding, confusion, _judgment_. Unfortunate misperception was brewing; just what was Prime Minister Kisaragi's daughter doing? Who was this man? The press would _eat_ this up. Vincent, on the other hand, would not dare put his hand on a woman, but this random woman's actions were completely absurd. He unhooked her hand and stepped back, straightening himself accordingly before she snatched his wrist and pulled him toward one of the towering stone pillars vaulting beneath the second floor, out of the watchful, curious eyes of guests and photographers. It was a quieter and lightly shadowed place, out of the grand light of the chandelier and in one of low, imitation candle sconces lining the walls.

She had turned away, exhaling and collecting her thoughts in some odd, pacing dance. She was even muttering to herself and Vincent was half inclined to believe she was just drunk and had the wrong person. So, he just watched and waited, unsure what to do.

"Don't you _dare_ act like you don't remember who I am." She finally said, tone low and shoulders dropping slightly before she turned back to him. Her anger had strangely subsided and what showed was awkwardness, her eyes tracing the floor to avoid his face. And despite the makeup that traced the lines of her face, in this dampened light, he could see her.

He took a step back, the situation again unraveling into something overwhelming, unmeasurable. And for a rare moment, he felt uncomfortable. It was the face from nights before, the face he _tried_ to forget. But here she was, carrying the same look that stared wildly, afraid as his unlikely victim. He put that fear in her and yet she still faced him today.

"I remember." He said, eyes unmoving when she pulled hers from the tile.

She sighed, crossing her thin arms across her small frame. A bit of hair had fallen out of her white rose clip, a strand tracing the left side of her youthful face. She pushed it back behind her ear with nimble fingers. "And do you know who I am?"

Only a fool could forget the squirming, rambunctious Yuffie Kisaragi running across her father's successful campaign stage in Wutai more than 15 years ago. It was a sight that made his mother laugh and laugh every time it played on the news. It was a ringing sound he wished to hear again, from a simpler, more peaceful time. How strange that a girl he did not know brought back such a memory. She also had a good eye for her people, noting his Wutai ancestry when it was just from his mother's side. Vincent nodded once, assessing the young woman's calming face. She nodded back, "I figured."

Then, silence. Awkward silence. _Painful silence._

The music was soothing behind them, changing to a softer, somber tune. The static of people talking was far away here, too. If anywhere, it would seem like they were alone, stuck in some difficult place where words would complicate things further. He knew who she was, what she did, and she probably had a fair idea of what he did, too.

Another sigh and her arms fell to her sides. "One more question?" When he just stared at her, she shrugged her shoulders. "It's only fair, since you know my little secret." He couldn't argue that, though the number of her questions could stem from _'So, how many people have you slaughtered?'_ to _'What did you have for breakfast?'_ He was slightly hesitant to give out too much, but he nodded anyway.

"What's your name?"

A simple question, no harm in that. Introductions were always appropriate when you meet someone new, though this was their second passing and he wasn't holding a gun to her forehead. He'd play along, then. A small chuckle nearly fled his lips and he went about adjusting his tie again. "Vincent." He then extended his hand, which she stared warily at. "Vincent Valentine."

This unfamiliar feeling, not because of the interaction, but who it was with. Despite his dark demeanor and piercing, strange eyes, he was awfully polite. And with what had transpired several nights ago, she had a right to her suspicion. This was different, however. He had his share of secrets and maybe seeing a living soul from whatever he did made him uneasy. He was trying, so… maybe she should, too. A small light laugh escaped her, not the laugh of a dignified daughter, but her true, dorky snort.

"And you kill people for a living?" She tested, pulling at his hand with exaggerated motions. He looked even more uncomfortable, something that made her red lips spread wider.

Just as she predicted, his dark glare returned, the vehemence that had made her blood run cold nights before. But here, he truly was out of his element, once against adjusting his suit and looking cautiously around. "You said one question…" When she shrugged her shoulders, he sighed. "My line of work is none of your concern," he said quietly, eyes darting back to her face. "And it would be in your best interest to keep it to yourself… Understand?" It was a sort of seriousness that Cloud sometimes had, when he was really keen about something. She made fun if it more often than she could count, and this almost wasn't any different. But, this stern expression wasn't worn by longtime friend Cloud Strife. Vincent Valentine had proved to be much different.

So, her smile faded and she nodded silent, and he matched a single nod back. "You should return to the festivities now, before someone notices you have disappeared."

In a brief moment, her eyes danced back to the event. He could see it, in her clenched jaw and narrowed eyes; she wasn't looking forward to stepping back into the light. Oddly, this explained her disappearance all those years ago, something barely talked about outside Wutai. A deep sigh escaped her. "I guess… I _do_ need to make my old man look good."

It seemed that Yuffie Kisaragi was out of her element as well, going through the motions in a world unfamiliar to her. This wasn't who she was, and Vincent was already understanding that just by the look in her eyes. He cleared his throat, then, drawing her glance back to him abruptly. And with his usual lack of poise in these kind of situations, his eyes were elsewhere, watching the crowd. "Perhaps… you can join me for a drink," the smallest of shrug struck his shoulders, "to make amends for the other night."

A shy smile came to her face, mostly because this was the strangest interaction she has ever had with a man, not counting any drunken brawl at the bar. And looking back at their brief history, this was probably for the best. Make amends, forget any animosity, pretend to be somewhat _normal_.

"Sure." She said, looping her arm around his and making him guardedly straighten. Another dorky snort and she pulled, leading him back toward the bar. "You can _buy_ me a drink and _maybe_ we can call it even."

* * *

"Did you at least see where she went?"

He stretched his arm out with hers and twisted her as she moved back to join his body. His other hand found its way back to her waist just as hers gripped his shoulder. And the tighter it gripped when she couldn't spot Yuffie among the crowds of people. As Cloud winced, Tifa sighed, somewhat defeated.

"I didn't," he breathed in her ear quietly, leading her in the slow dance. He moved his feet with some skill, directing them to turn a 180. "She couldn't have gotten far… She was just with Reno a minute ago."

With Tifa looking back toward the entrance, she could see the flame of red hair. "That's what I'm afraid of…" When other couples danced apart, she could see he was alone, speaking with the bartender on the other side of the bar. It was almost a moment of relief, but this meant she was anywhere now. "She's not with him."

A half a second later, Cloud straightened, surprising Tifa as he turned her so they could both look in the same direction. "There," he whispered, pointing with the hand still wrapped on hers. Following that, Tifa found the back of Yuffie's head, a glittering rose clip a bit disheveled in her hair. "Who is she talking to?"

Tifa said nothing, but watched Yuffie's shoulders shake in laughter and her head turn to the man on her right. With her turning head, Tifa's eyes then watched the man, a tall figure sitting straight on the barstool. His long black hair was tied neatly in a mid-ponytail, and aside from his black suit, there was nothing really to identify him. In fact, he looked pretty plain from this distance. He was sort of still, and Tifa had half the mind to think he was a statue.

"I have no idea," she murmured, just as Cloud dipped her backwards. They spun together again, but kept their glance on Yuffie and the mystery man. It didn't look like he was saying much to her, but Yuffie was definitely talking to him. "Think she knows him?"

Cloud actually snorted, "unless she's cuffed him to the bar, I doubt it."

Tifa just rolled her eyes and pinched his shoulder, then ignored his wince when her eyes danced back to Yuffie. After a few more twirls and turns, the man had stood and bid Yuffie adieu, wandering back through the crowds of diplomats and donors. Through bobbing heads, neither of the two managed a glance of his face, but Yuffie was alone now, watching the man disappear. The older woman sighed, looking back to Cloud. "She's blending in better than we thought she would… At least she's talking to _someone_ and not hiding like the last time. Right?" She stared at her beau pointedly and he less-than-agreeably nodded. "That's what I thought."

"One of you should remind her to turn her communicator back on," a voice breathed in both of their ears, a noise that made both of them flinch. "Sorry," the voice muttered, a smile obviously on their face. Cloud and Tifa's eyes traveled upward, finding Elena leaning against the second-floor railing, casually clicking away at her camera. Over the brief course of the night, the blonde had moved to the other side, positioned almost above Yuffie's head.

Tifa and Cloud stared at each other, mystified. They had agreed on open communications, all conversations in and out for everyone to listen to, aside from Cid's. His close proximity with the elderly tycoon would mess with her hearing aids. "Why in Gaia would she turn it off?" Cloud muttered.

Above, it looked like Elena shrugged her shoulders. She pulled her face away from the eyepiece to adjust the camera. "It must have to do with the guy she was with… She turned it off after she nearly strangled him to death." Again, Tifa and Cloud glanced at each other in bewilderment, but Tifa's melted more into anger.

"She…" Her voice had pitched, earning a couple of glances for the people around her, so she collected herself and lowered it again. "She what? When?"

Elena adjusted the massive lens on her camera, zooming in on Yuffie's face. "Just after she slipped away from Reno." The flash flickered as the camera snapped several shots. "She pushed through the crowd right for this guy, shook him around a bit before disappearing behind the pillar to their right. There weren't back there for very long, but by the time I got here, they were sitting at the bar." Elena pulled back from the camera again to look at the screen, checking out the shot she got.

Cloud and Tifa had stepped away from the dance floor by this point, sitting at their designated table, just a few yards away from Yuffie. She still hadn't noticed them, and they hadn't peeled their eyes away from her. "This is so strange, even for Yuffie," Tifa muttered, pretending to watch the band as they shifted chairs for the next act. Someone was bringing out a podium to the stage. Cloud just nodded quietly, fighting the urge to run his hand through his hair. Any note of worry could break their cover, especially as guests started to crowd to their seats. "She wouldn't act like this to someone she didn't know. At least, someone who had nothing to do with her."

Cloud leaned back and glanced up as he spoke low. "Elena – mind sharing?"

Above, Elena had pulled a picture, zoomed in, and sent them a copy with a few clicks on the camera. Each of them pulled out their cell phones, silently studying the photo for just a moment before shifting their eyes back to each other. "His eyes are red." Tifa said, unmoving.

Elena spoke before Cloud could, affirming their suspicions swiftly. "Enhancements for night vision, I'm assuming. Just like Yuffie's description of the man the other night."

This only created more questions than answers, and Tifa's fleeting, worried glance returned. Yuffie had pulled herself from the bar and was walking to her designated table, one with the most powerful and dignified guests in Midgar, probably in all of Gaia. When she suddenly realized this, her confidence faltered, and she was seemingly searching for someone. A brush across her ear, a slowed pace in her step, and her voice quietly rang in their ears. Tifa's eyes were on her the entire time.

"They want me to sit with these big deal kind of guys..." Yuffie's voice trembled a bit. "They look serious... I don't think I can do this."

And as Cloud opened his mouth to trivialize, Tifa spoke first, firmly. "You'll do just fine, Yuffie. Smile, laugh at their jokes, and stay away from any profanity. I bet you've been doing just fine up until now."

From there, they could see Yuffie's expression change to something similar to embarrassment before she smiled and nodded. "No, you're right. I can do this." Her confidence seemingly returned, walking tall and straight to her assigned table. Not even a second later, she joined in conversation with a man to her left, and Tifa could breathe easy. With a swipe over her ear, she pulled the communicator into her palm. Cloud stared at her, clearly annoyed. Tifa only stared defiantly back.

"We can discuss what she did later. Right now, she needs the support to get through this and the mission."

Cloud couldn't argue with her. In fact, there was not a man in the entire world that can stand up to her and her bold stare. Just another thing that he loved and slightly feared about her. The grown man could only sigh.

* * *

The guests continued to take their seats, the lights began to dim and somewhere along the second floor balcony, lights shined down on the stage. A rather large gentleman, bearded heavily and dressed in a green suit stepped on to the stage, causing a round of applause from the guests. Yuffie looked somewhat out of place (or more so) and simply joined in because the people at her table were so eager about it. The man took to the podium at center, raising his arms to lessen the ovation. He seemingly looked like a happy man with a lot more than joy and laughter in his stomach.

"Thank you, thank you," his voice rang out, resounding against the speakers that had been setup on each side of the stage. "You should know me already, but my name is Alec Heidegger, Director and Curator of the Meteorfall Museum of History. I am so very happy to see many familiar faces here tonight. Friends and families of the museum, and even some new and interesting faces as well. I cannot say it enough; I am glad you have taken time out of your busy schedules to join me here."

Yuffie tried hard not to roll her eyes and settled on drinking another glass of wine that was set in front of her. These people didn't have busy schedules, unless that involved bossing people around or sleeping around. To keep that to herself, she glugged the dry juice down. Just as she set her glass down, the guy to her left reached out to sip his drink, only to find it empty. The girl quickly looked back to the stage to avoid his confused glance.

"Of course, enough about me." He chuckled (something that sounded like a horse, actually) and the crowd actually laughed with him. Yuffie, on her third drink of the night and starting to feel the buzz, laughed too, but just a tad more exaggerated than she meant to. A couple of eyes back on her and she was smiling, embarrassed. "It comes with great pleasure to introduce the man who made this wonderful place, a place of deep and rich history, a reality. Each and every one of you have given a piece to this museum, but the very foundation on which your donations lie are because of him. So, please, put your hands together for the very man himself, Rufus Shinra."

Lightbulbs not only went off in her head, but in Tifa's, Cloud's, and Elena's, as well. Cid was, unsurprisingly, nowhere to be found, actually outside in the back, allowing the old woman's dog to relieve itself. But reeling back to here, Yuffie watched intently as Rufus Shrina emerged from behind the satin blue curtains to a roar was excitement and a literal standing ovation. Yuffie cheerfully inclined to stay seated. A rather handsome man with golden hair and crystal blue eyes; poster boy for rich parents and lavish lifestyles. He honestly looked a little like Cloud, but with way sharper features. Plus, Cloud would never dare wear a stark white suit and a tie _that_ green. Flashes of light from the back and sides of the room captured the entrance from all angles… The man of the hour was here. He waved to the guests, pointed at a couple of familiar faces, and turned to shake Heidegger's hand. The crowd died down as he took the podium and Heidegger found he way back to his seat, just across from Yuffie.

"A big thank you to my good friend and colleague for that wonderful introduction. And now a large thank you to each and every one of you, and not just because I got a standing ovation." He chuckled and the crowd roared again; Yuffie was lost to find what was funny with that one.

"I thank you for sharing this special moment with me. My grandfather once told me that perseverance and determination are mastered when everyone works together. It helped get him and his comrades through the lengthy war, and it helped Heidegger and myself when the idea for this very museum. We wanted nothing more than to share not only my grandfather's legacy, but the legacy behind all memories of Meteorfall, as well." And while his speech was rather touching to most, Yuffie's mind translated it all into 'blah, blah, blah.'

Rufus only continued, a genuine, handsome smile on his face. "Today, on the 45th anniversary of Meteorfall, I wanted to share as much as I could with you all. I personally reached out to the families of war heroes, took down their stories and their memories. And many nights, I myself was driven to tears, listening to the men and women who stood on our front lines and conquered. What they shared with me made me appreciate everything that I have today." It was like the very _moment_ he mentioned crying, the women at her table started tearing up.

"How sympathetic and understanding," one whispered.

"He's truly a good man," the other whispered back.

Yuffie nearly gagged and reached for a glass that was sadly empty.

Rufus took a moment, pausing for emotional and dramatic effect. He then breathed and smiled warmly. "I was lucky enough to bring back many pieces of their histories. And I made a promise to each of them that I would share what I learned with you." The lights suddenly shifted, or more so, lights flashed upward to grace the entire second floor. Everyone, even Yuffie, looked up, and slightly gaped. The _oohs and awes_ echoed. Displays were pushed toward the railing, flags hung across walls and rafters. Whoever was working this event deserved a raise, because they worked fast and silently, all in the few minutes they ushered everyone downstairs.

"I more than welcome you to take a look at the extended histories and personal stories from those I interviewed. The Meteorfall Museum of History is very fortunate to showcase something so special and meaningful, not just to the families, but to me as well. At that, please enjoy your meals and please don't hesitate to say hello before you leave tonight… Thank you."

Once again, the guests were overjoyed, cheering and clapping like they were watching a very interesting game of… whatever the most boring sport in the world was. In Yuffie's ears, Cloud and Tifa confirmed together: The Sierra was definitely up there, too. The lights flipped back to their normal brightness as waiters and waitresses emerged from the walls with trays of something quite mouthwatering. And whatever was placed in front of her was nearly dug into immediately, but movement in the edges of her eyes made her pause.

"If it isn't the esteemed daughter of Wutai's greatest Prime Minister." The voice said, ringing and clear even without a microphone. She turned, almost too stiffly, noticing Rufus Shinra take the seat to her right. He was even taller and more classically handsome up close, two things that strangely intimidated the drunken girl. It was probably the wine. Most definitely the wine.

She smiled and forced out a small 'hi,' afraid her damned red cheeks wouldn't give her away. Rather, he just smiled warmly. Beside him were two other men, each dressed in midnight black suits, but one of pure Wutai descent and the other with strong features and braided silver hair. She didn't have a moment to recognize the Wutaian man, as Rufus raised his hand and motioned them away. "Don't worry, gentlemen. I will be fine on my own for now. Get a drink, something to eat; please join in the event, as well."

And without a word, the two nodded and split, heading off in different directions and not anywhere toward a bar. Yuffie watched them silently pass the table until she found Rufus Shinra's eyes back on her. He stared at her with some amused look in his eyes and she had half the mind to nearly narrow her eyes back. "It is so nice that you chose to represent the lovely country of Wutai on this evening," he said, eyes turning to pick up a fork and start at his meal. "I hear that your father has been rather busy lately, no?"

Yuffie's posture tightening again. Thanks to the last several years out of town and the three glasses of wine, her inner-Yuffie was scrambling. _Make something up, make something up, make someth–_

"Oh, yeah, well," her bare shoulders shrugged as she smiled weakly, perhaps smiling a little too sheepishly. "You know how it is... He's _always_ busy with something."

Rufus nodded, and in between bites, he pressed further. "What sort of affairs is he focusing on this year?"

 _Ah... What was the old man complaining about again? Something about..._

And as the answer came to her in a rush, her voice risen in volume. "Tourism!" The eyes at the table pulled from their meals and conversations and she sheepishly grinned, pretending not to notice. Instead, she took a couple of bites of mashed potatoes and chicken. Swallowing, she further explained since chewing allowed her thoughts to clear a bit. "Just like every year, it seems. _Daddy_ always liked to share Wutai with the world." She smiled, he chuckled, and inner-Yuffie couldn't believe this was _actually_ working. Maybe she should work tipsy more often.

"Your father does wonderful things for Wutai." He then said, pausing to dab his napkin to his mouth. And with thought, his eyes lit up. "You know, I just saw your father last month for an international trade show." At that, she froze again, but melted when those crystal blue eyes flickered back to her. "He said his daughter was beautiful, but I did not expect _this_ beautiful."

The radio waves cracked:

"Oh, god." Tifa.

"Gross." Elena.

"That guy better keep his hands off of you or I will strangle him." Cloud. Nice to know he was probably speaking for Cid, too – who at this point was finally sitting down at a table and getting something to eat.

Yuffie, on the other hand, was about to milk this as much as possible. Who knows what else she could get out of this deal? Planes? Cars? Maybe a bit of jewelry… This was most definitely the alcohol talking. Without it, she might have punched him by now, and not because she was angry. Instead, the girl laughed, not that dorky, single snort kind of laugh. Something very feminine and cute.

Her face lit up. "Oh, you're too sweet." Her hand brushed across his arm and she smiled sweetly. "That speech you made about the heroes was really very touching. I think it's amazing what you did for them."

It seemed like praise was Rufus's favorite sound. His hand reached toward her face, brushing back a loose strand of hair. Without even realizing it, she leaned into his touch. "Thank you kindly, Miss Kisaragi." He tucked the hair behind her ear without even a flinch from Yuffie, too intent on getting the right longing, comfortable look in the man's eyes.

" _Please_ , Rufus - call me Yuffie."

From outside this, the table was staring again, but with excitement and awe. Somewhere out there, lightbulbs began to flash.

"Are they together? They are just too cute." One whispered.

"They would make an amazing couple if they were." The other whispered back.

It just made Yuffie's red lips spread even more. With the audience won, this would be nothing but a sure deal. "I am going to an event tomorrow in Costa del Sol," he said, eyes skimming the lines of her face before setting on her grey storm eyes. "It would be a pleasure if you would join me."

And Yuffie opened her mouth with all the intent to say yes, but when the lights cut out, the museum went dark, and the entire room erupted in terrified confusion, she did not get a chance. A gunshot rang out and a man at the other end of the table slammed his head into his dinner plate. Dead. Another shot and Yuffie's wine glass shattered into a million shards of hot crystal. By the third shot, Yuffie was already under the table, seeing stars; instead of saying yes, all Yuffie could say was a rather unladylike, "Fuck!"


	5. Running Scared

_**A/N:**_ Probably my most favorite chapter so far. Edits were made promptly with this one, too.

Just a heads up for the next chapter - it may be delayed because of work and other responsibilities, but it is in the works. Half of it is written. I have been ahead of posting schedule for the other chapters, but now I'm running behind. No worries, though! Keep those reviews of support coming. I really appreciate all of it. Anyway, on the with the show.

* * *

Yuffie couldn't even hear herself _think_ over the screaming of the guests, running like choco-chickens with their heads cut off. God, these people had money and maybe a little power, but not enough to get _freakin'_ assassinated for!

Plates, glasses, chairs, tables; anything that wasn't bolted down was throw back and around in the struggle for safety _._ And with the crash of breaking tableware and hurried steps, three more bullets rang out; no one waited to see where they landed. Instead, they just rushed for the exit at once, squeezing like sardines and sobbing like small, panicked children. Those capable pretended to play hero and ushered the wealthier through the packed crowds. Cloud was probably telling Yuffie to get her ass outside, too, but she knocked into the off button when her head hit a table leg. That would explain the cut on her forehead and falling locks of darkened hair plastered to her face.

What felt like hours of panic and screaming was only a couple of minutes.

When the coast seemed even remotely clear, the young woman finally peered over the table side, eyes darting around the darkened room. Rufus and her tablemates, aside from the dead man bleeding all over his mashed potatoes, were gone. The noise was dying now, giving her some room to _process_ what the hell just happened. Her eyes darted up, but she didn't move, not right away. With some light of the open night pouring in through the second floor windows, there was enough to get by. No shadowy figures or looming darkness was above, either. If it was just one perpetrator, they were out of shots… that is, if she counted correctly and were lacking another clip. Yuffie didn't have time to ponder that or how dangerous this could be. You only live once, right? She would take her chances.

She stayed low and crawled, avoiding broken glass and any sort of self-respect she had left as she snaked through flipped tables and splintered chairs. She didn't care if the shards tore through her gown or she lost her shoe back in the confusion; if she just moved quick enough, she could buy 100 gowns and 100 single shoes to replace the one she lost. The thief just needed to get to those damn stairs.

By the time she reached them, the museum was dead silent, almost like nothing out of the ordinary or completely traumatic had happened. Sure, there was a dead guy over there and maybe another sprawled out across the entrance tile, but it was the perfect browsing volume to check out all the great things this museum had to offer. Something Yuffie was actually looking forward to, as well. She paused, carefully unstrapping her other, now lone shoe and slipping it over her hand, heel pointed out like a weapon. Whatever, _whoever_ could still be up there, carrying their last bullet like their life depended on it. But authorities will be there fast and Yuffie wasn't going to wait for this jerk to ruin her moment of success… Not like the last time. With a deep, full breath, she started up the stairs, body still hanging low with a single hand supporting her up the railing. And like the first floor, the second floor was just as silent, but a whole lot emptier.

Everything that Rufus Shinra had worked for, everything that man collected painstakingly with the horse-laughing curator, sat pristine and perfect. Books, helmets, weapons, letters from loved ones – all were out on display in glass cases, completely unharmed from the chaos that unfolded minutes before. It was a slight relief; all the history of the war and heroes would not be ruined. Of course, this did not stop Yuffie from pondering how nice those guns or that flag would look mounted on her wall… no time for that, though… well, maybe on the way out.

She stayed low and weaved through cases and displays on quiet toes, peering through their clear, protective shells. And every time, it was never it. Nothing, nada, zilch – none of this dusty, sad looking junk was even remotely close to what she was looking for. She knew what the damned thing looked like, but every time she raised her face to the glass, she expected it to just be there, waiting for her. Again, what felt like hours of searching and poking around was maybe only two minutes of skimming, but this was just getting ridiculous now. If the cops came crashing through the windows now, they'd find her up here looking like a fool, lost and pretending to look for her missing contact, maybe. Obviously her excuses were never good when she was speaking to the cops.

She rounded the corner railing once more, thinking maybe it was down one of the corridors that dug further into the museum when she finally spotted it. It wasn't particularly dressed up or ornate as other displays, but she knew it when she saw it. The banner ("Warships of the Air and Seas!") above the displays was a good indicator, too. A glorious, yet imaginary spotlight that glowed over it, something too much for her to feel embarrassed about her neglectful glance. Instead, she was just glad the search was finally over. She straightened and skipped right to the case, pressing her rough hands and sticky forehead to the glass.

There the model sat, perfect, detailed, and all so valuable. Below it was a card, the description to the very ship itself:

 ** _The Sierra, a war airship powered by steam and coal, carried several hundreds of men and women into the fields of battle. The machine itself assisted in multiple combat operations and carried thousands of survivors to safety. Some consider this ship to be the turning point to the war and a token to the bravery and hard work that went into fighting justice. The Sierra took its final voyage in the final year of the war and was struck down by missiles as the last-ditch effort by the enemy. And though the ship had fallen that day, many survived because of the quick thinking and actions of its crew._**

If she really knew anything about these things (like Cid), she might have thought it was beautiful. And sure, the stories behind this thing were remarkable and inspiring, but all she cared about was it looked nearly identical to the fake from nights before, sans the pod that currently sat on Yuffie's collections shelf.

Like the nimble and cool thief that she was, she took her shoe and broke off the heel. Within were a set of tools, all particularly useful in a lock picking situation. Tossing the actual shoe part over her shoulder, she squatted down and got to work on the lock, a small, pitiful looking thing at the edge of the glass and wooden podium. And, of course, within seconds, the lock was also tossed over her shoulder. She pushed up the glass as she stood and purred. "Come to momma…"

Yuffie didn't have a chance to get her hands remotely close to the model. Hell, she didn't even have time to _breathe_. A strong body collided into hers, not in the _**"**_ _ **Get down Madam President!"**_ kind of shove, but in a _**"**_ _ **You're in the way!"**_ kind of shove. Not graceful or one bit comforting.

In fact, she was literally scooped up and rushed through one of the corridors, further concealed into the darkness of the empty museum. The young woman did not get a chance to swear, scream, or even squeak, and she wasn't about to start with the firm hand over her mouth. The other arm was looped around her waist, pinning her up against her captor.

 _This jerk_. This stupid, possibly murdering jerk. First an assassination attempt, now a kidnapping? She wasn't particularly scared but at a peak of growing anger. She was not a token female, damsel in distress! How **dare** they?! Above all racing thoughts, Yuffie wished she still had her heels, just so she could knock them into this sonovabitch's legs. Instead, when the world came rushing back and she realized the severity of the situation, her fingers crawled into his hand and muffled screams escaped her lips. It was only a familiar voice that made her freeze again, his lips skimming the edges of her ear.

"Silence, Yuffie – it's me." His hand fell away and she spun to distance herself, but his arm hung tight and he pulled her back against him. Her eyes were mere inches from his crimson hues. "We need to stay in the dark," he whispered firmly, justifying their more than awkward positions pressed together. He didn't seem to mind it, though, or he didn't really notice the hint of red on her cheeks. His attention was elsewhere, looking back out into the dimmed light.

"Vincent," she breathed, almost in relief. It was as if she _knew_ he was not the cause of all this suspenseful stalking around. But when the light caught the firearm poised carefully in his right hand, her breath hitched in a not so relieving way. "What in Gaia are you doing?" She whispered-yelled, a shrill reaction that even stun her ears. He, on the other hand, was seemingly too collected to even notice it. In fact, he didn't look at her until she started squirming against him again. "If you are trying to take me hostage, you are sorely mistaken, buddy!"

"I am not taking you hostage," he said, staring at her with hard eyes. Any more serious and the reds of his eyes would pop out as rubies. She merely shrank against that glance and swallowed her qualms.

"Then, what is going on?" Her voice was small, just like how she felt under his glare. And he was readily about to give her an answer when someone else gladly responded. Not with words, of course. The corner of the wall beside Vincent's shoulder exploded, sending drywall and concrete into a sprayed mess. Yuffie shrieked and ducked her head into his chest, shielding her face away from any flying fragments. Vincent had twisted himself to cover her, then released his grasp and put himself in front of her. She stumbled back and fell, tripping on the edges of her torn dress. The world was silent again, aside from her panicked gasps for air and Vincent reloading his gun. She didn't think of it, but she was _right_ – he _did_ run out of shots. She'd worry about this later, especially as he stood pretty occupied at the moment… He held out his handgun to the light and waited, almost like his head wasn't nearly blown off.

No amount of waiting could calm her pounding heart. Yuffie suddenly felt extremely foolish and stupid and terrified, all at the same time. She was just a regular cat burglar, a house thief – she was **_not_** emotionally or physically prepared for anything close to this. Sure, homeowners threatened her with guns all the time, but at least she had her ways out with smoke bombs, a bit of Elena's experience in technology, and Tifa's direction. Here, despite Vincent standing in front of her, she felt very alone at the moment. Alone and terribly frightened. She thought that getting up and slipping into the darkness would be a good idea, and Vincent seemed to have the same idea, as well. Just as another shot rang out, carving a hole perfectly above their heads, he had rushed to her again, dipping his body to collect her into his arms and escape into the darkness behind them.

* * *

A few minutes later, he had finally found an unlocked door, though not the emergency exit he was originally searching for. Pushing pass the threshold, he realized it was just another display room. This area, however, seemed closed off to guests, a place not quite ready for the public to see. It was lit just right by the low hanging moon, curtains already drawn back in adornment, but the room was empty aside from vacant display cases. It was looking to be more a storage room for their display boxes and podiums instead. With a silent click of the door behind them, he finally let her stand. And just as he predicted, she distanced herself, taking a few steps back where the light was still on them. She looked fairly shaken, but she was alive. Somehow, her silver, white rose clip was still clinging to hair.

The young woman spoke decisively, in a manner that already felt unlike her. "Please tell me what's going on."

"Do you really want to know?" He asked thickly. She nodded. Yuffie already knew his name, his face, what he did for a living… What was the use in keeping secrets anymore? Vincent did not take his eyes off of her, nor did his voice hesitate. "I was tasked in protecting Rufus Shinra as a bodyguard and sentry for the museum's event, but my own personal vendetta has lead me to his elimination." Her mouth opened, in shock or to say something, but he continued. "This is why I was at Alec Heidegger's home Sunday evening. I was going to use his information on Rufus Shinra to end his life, but ended up running into you instead."

Yuffie's mouth still hung open and a small, meek question fell out. "Why?"

"A personal vendetta," he repeated.

She was not pleased with his answer. In fact, it gnawed at her, like how she gnawed at her bottom lip in thought. His eyes narrowed and he wondered for a slight moment what she could be thinking. It couldn't be anything good if her worried stare was any indication. Yet, she let out a deep sigh, almost like a release of everything that had happened and she bobbed her head once. "Okay."

"Okay," he repeated. Surprised, but the emotion did not cross his composure. Instead, he was focused. They were trapped until whatever was coming after them stopped, on their own or by his hand. Deep down, he felt horrible, actually. She was trapped with him and it was all his fault. But, he knew if he left her behind, she wouldn't spared... that's not how _he_ worked.

"You aren't the only _bodyguard_ , though," she said after a moment of silence. He had taken up post at the door, leaning against the wall and staring at the indents of his weapon. She was sitting against the wall, too, just a few feet between them. She had drawn up her legs under her arms. When he just nodded, she continued. "Is it the Wutaian man? Or the man with the long, silver hair?"

"Silver hair," he replied, eyes unmoving from the gun.

"Hmm... I figured." And it was like they knew each other was looking back, because their eyes met and she grinned a bit. "I remember the Wutaian man from the bar a couple nights ago. He just looks annoyed all the time... the other one is the scary one, though."

A few more seconds past and Vincent was beginning to understand her character a bit more. The woman never stayed silent, but she was opening up, probably to cope with the circumstances. "Do you all work together?"

His eyes were back on the gun, "yes."

"And you _all_ kill people?"

He was not quick to answer this time, but he did eventually. "Yes."

When she made a sudden noise of disgust, he assumed the obvious, but for what she said, his lips actual turned up at the corners. A brief flicker of amusement.

"Ugh, that means Reno is a hitman, huh? I knew that guy was shady is hell the first time he stumbled into _Seventh Heaven_... That annoying bastard."

Who knew these two shared something even remotely in common? It was just unfortunate that it involved Reno.

A shift in noise, something perked his attention, just outside the room. Quickly, silently, he held his hand down, palm flat and just in front of her shoulder.

'Silence.'

He had already let his guard down too much and now he had to the consider the safety _and_ effects of Yuffie. She could be a blessing or an affliction; Vincent wasn't ready to find out for either. His hand signal changed and he motioned his two long fingers to the right. Yuffie didn't say a word, but immediately understood what it meant.

'Move.'

For the second time that night, she just crawled, keeping close to the wall and her head as close to the carpet as possible. And she moved like her life depended on it, not caring about a hiked up dress or way more skin peaking through the gown's slit. No time for dignity; by the time she reached the other side of the room, pressed against the second door out of the exhibit room, the silence was broken.

A spray of bullets, not from the other side of the wall but from _outside_ , shattered through the windows and walls, sending glass, concrete, and plastic into the air. Bullets that got far enough cracked the plaster right above her head. Yuffie immediately hit the floor flat, covering her head with her arms with a mild shriek, but the noise of everything exploding luckily drowned out her wild screaming. She didn't see Vincent reach her side and she didn't question how he moved that fast. The young woman didn't even mind him scooping her back up into his arms for the third time that night, letting him run them out back into the hall. At this point, anything was better than the firing range back there.

He moved like he knew exactly where he was going, swinging at the right corners and avoiding the wrong turns. But this time, there was a bit of sway in his step, a stagger; something was wrong. Really wrong. There were footsteps behind them, heavy boots just as deafening as her pounding heart. And, they probably weren't as close as Yuffie believed, but as she peered over his shoulder, blinking into the darkness, she could see the flickers of light. It wouldn't be long until they, whoever this was, finally caught up to them.

A final turn and Vincent finally found the back door, at least, to a stairwell acting as the fire escape. She managed to squirm from his arms this time, but not with her own strength. With a hitched breath and misstep, Vincent nearly toppled. Yuffie managed a tight grip on his arm, though, an unfortunate squeeze that made him hiss quietly. Wetness, hot and sticky, immediately clung through his jacket and stained her hands. "Vincent, you're bleeding," she said quietly, lessening her hold but still guiding him down the steps. He said nothing, but didn't pull away, quickly accepting the fact that he couldn't do this on his own anymore.

By the time they reached outside, he was leaning onto her and she was stumbling just to keep both of their bodies upright. For all the climbing and swinging around she did, Yuffie did not have the brute strength to hold him up for very long. And by the blood, seeping across her shoulder and arm, he didn't have very long, either. "Where am I going, Vincent?" She spoke louder, firmer, pausing for a moment to observe the back of the building. A parking lot with a couple cars… Most hadn't been touched in what looked like months. They could cut through this lot, pray the gate was unmanned, but Vincent murmured something and shifted his weight. Yuffie merely supported his stumble toward one of the cars.

He managed to slip from her grasp and lean against the metal, digging into his pockets to find the keys to the vehicle. She stood still and stared at him under the light of the moon. When the car unlocked and he pulled the driver door open, he ended up staring right back at her.

Everything in her very core was telling her this was a horrible idea. Hell, even by the look on his face, weak and struggling, she could tell it was a horrible idea. But what else could she do? Barefoot, skinned hands and knees, a throbbing welt on her forehead – if she didn't help him, no one would help her. And there was no way she wanted to face what was coming after him alone. So, she swallowed her fears and rounded the car, climbing into the passenger seat as he lowered himself inside. It was painful to watch and the itch to help him further was clawing at her. He did not bother with his seatbelt, though, and she wouldn't with hers. Instead, she stared at him curiously.

"Where are we going?" The engine roared to life and he managed to slide out of the lot, but with each passing block, his condition was worsening. He must not have heard her. "Vincent," his body shifted with her raising voice, like she started him from near-slumber. "Where are we going?" When he didn't respond again, it was because he couldn't. If he was passing out, this would be 100 times worse, but luckily for the both of them, he was slowing the car down. "I think you should pull over."

"Can't," he murmured, squeezing his dull grip on the wheel. He was losing feeling in his fingers.

"But, you can't drive like this. You need to get help."

But where would he find that? If there was an army behind them, once friends and colleagues out for his blood, where in Gaia could he possibly go?

Thinking fast, she scooted forward, pressing nimble fingers on the touchpad in the middle of the dashboard. If this car was as fancy and cool as it looked, it should be able to do what she needed. And just a couple of taps and a confirmation noise later, the screen flashed a map with directions. She leaned back and touched his limp arm, squeezing him back to consciousness. "Can you last ten minutes until we get there?"

* * *

"You son of a bitch! You left her! You fuckin' left her there!" When Cid walked into a room, fuming mad, hell usually broke loose. And for the third time that night, Cid bit right through a cigarette. The first was when the old lady back at the museum told him that smoking made her little doggy sick. The second was when the light show started, and not the one with the spotlights and applause. He didn't care if his mouth was full of tobacco, losing someone he cared about tasted a million times worse. Though, he was more focused on shaking the life out of Cloud, tight fingers right around Cloud's wrinkled collar. He was just about to reach for his tie for maximum strangulation, but Tifa was already on him, pulling off his iron hands and shoving him back. She stared hard at him, her hands readily up between them.

"Cid, stop acting like this! We had no other choice!" It was too horrible to be true, but they had to face it. With the chaos that erupted and no proper means of defense, they would essentially be running back into lion's den. And with the melting anger came sadness, tears prickling the edges of her eyes.

Cloud immediately moved to comfort, trailing a careful hand on her shoulder. Just a gentle squeeze before staring back to Cid. "We had no other choice… But, she's smart. She'll figure a way."

A sigh escaped the older man and he already was fishing out a new cigarette, walking past the two to sit at the bar. "You better be right, _kid_." Cloud's eyes narrowed, but Cid's exhaustion came in return. "I need a fuckin' drink."

At least one highlight of the night was the lack of customers. No one to fight with or cut off, no screaming or hollering. With Tifa and Yuffie manning the bar all on their own, no extra help meant closing the bar for an entire day, sometimes even more. This was just another day off for them, sitting together in a locked bar and enjoy the company of each other. But without Yuffie, the bar had might as well been empty.

Cid sat to Elena's right, and despite all the equipment she had spread out over the bar-top, he still had room to lean his elbows upright. The young woman was fidgeting with the blocky communicator, testing all sorts of frequencies. Every single one just came back as static. "Even if she turned off the communicator," she muttered, mostly to herself. "I should still get a reading on her, a backup frequency if something gets broken or dislodged. These things don't just 'turn-of'…" her fingers pulled at a button, but nothing happened. "… you just have to find a way around the settings."

For Elena, this was incredibly frustrating. Technology was her thing. Her _niche_. She knew the ends and outs for just about anything that held an electronic charge or had a cable. But, getting nothing but sad results from this old radio? She huffed with exasperation and tossed it back on the bar. Cid didn't even raise his head from his hands. Cloud finally left her side, heading down to the cellar for something strong to sip on. And Tifa, sitting alone at a sticky table, still couldn't peel her eyes from the door. None of them even found the time to change, all still dressed for the event that concluded hours too early. This was always the meeting place after something like this; if something dissolves out of control, the bar was the safe haven. _Seventh Heaven_ wasn't always like this, but the group found comfort in a place with happy memories and liquor. They probably wouldn't head their different ways until word of Yuffie came, either. Good or bad, they would wait.

Something crashed behind her, a crate, shattering glass, and Cloud's quick yelp made her bolt to her feet, but before she could reach the cellar door, Cloud came rushing back up the stairs. "Get the first aid kit," he breathed. Fear and worry swirled behind Tifa's eyes, but before she could ask, another familiar voice echoed from the darkness.

"And some towels and a bottle of something clear!"

Tifa didn't have a moment to breathe a sigh of relief. Neither did Cid, who kicked back the bar stool to get a bottle of Vodka, nor did Elena, up on her feet and running to the back rooms to get some towels. Back in their lives once more and she was already bossing people around. Tifa was just happy she was alive.


	6. (Friends in) Unexpected Places

_**A/N:**_ Up just in time! Thanks for all the support and reviews. I really appreciate it.

* * *

Everyone meets a near-death experience differently; sometimes, people see their passed friends and family, beckoning them with kind smiles and understanding eyes. 9 out of 10 times, those people go with their ghosts of their past, fooled by the Reaper and his wicked tricks. Other times, people relive what got them there; a lifetime of battles, back alley muggings, childbirth, falling off the ladder. After a few hundred, people are too numb to face anything but the music, another wicked game that the Reaper loves to play. For Vincent, his near-death experiences are quite different. There is not a shining light, groups of loved ones waiting for him on the other side, nor is there an endless downpour of bullets, connecting in his flesh in the same place, in the same way, every time. He does not see the face of the woman he saved or hear her panicked, weak screams.

He sees, and hears, nothing. Blackness. He's suspended in it or perhaps drowning in it; it's too hard to tell. A bleak, noiseless place of the in-between, a purgatory, the waiting room for heaven or hell. Vincent has never seen either, but he is familiar with this place and the measureless wait. He often wished for a book or something entertaining to pass the time, but was only granted time to fiddle his thumbs and imagine life outside of this.

But, every near-death experience has been different, and this one was leading down a new path. The boundless journey, spent in hushed darkness, was changing. For once, he heard himself. It alarmed him; his own shallow, pained breathing echoing in the distance. There was no doubt in Vincent's mind that it was his own breathing, but then another sound, near his own, but unfamiliar, echoed with it.

"There," he felt something brush against his shoulder, like a ghost skimming by, "you're going to be okay."

The woman, if he heard correctly, sounded not only confident, but a bit relieved. And then, in a literal blink of an eye, he was jolted from the darkness, brought back to a memory he had not thought of for a long time. With hushed whispers and shadows, he was hiding under the table, spying on just another private conversation between his parents. His mother sounded unhappy, but this was not surprising – she was very upset about the unknown towards the end of her life. His father never made it any better for her, and the growing intelligence of a young child could comprehend he was probably the cause of his mother's tears. And, this would end with just that. His father disappeared, either from swiftly getting up or dissolving into ash (not something he remembered), and his mother was alone, sobbing into her hands with choked silence. Little Vincent, no more than 7 was standing next to her, touching her back, tugging her hair, wishing for her tears to stop, because everyone knew that his mother's tears was enough to rouse his own, and he was getting to that age where crying was for babies unless you fell and skinned your knee. He was not old enough to realize that this hurt _worse_ than any skinned knee.

When his mother realized her own son's tears, she wrapped her long arms around his small frame, allowing her child to bury his head in her darkened locks. She smelled exactly as he remembered; like cinnamon and wild flowers.

And he remembered exactly what she said, just as she said it in his ear. "Shhh, my love, please..." She had paused, lifting his head back between her hands so she could see his face. They shared the same sad eyes, but seeing her face made all those tears dry away. "You're going to be okay."

The words sounded too familiar and they hurt, not because of the moment, but because he knew what would come next. It burned at his heart, the edges of his fingertips, the rounds of his cheeks; it was enough to bring him back to the land of the living, rather violently.

Of course, after floating through a rather calming nothingness for an eternity, returning to the real world would be painful. But, these were not new sufferings; he knew of his wounds when he stumbled down the stairs, the new holes to match the old ones, but the whirlwind of getting here was not his story to tell.

How did he get here?

Who mended his wounds?

With bleary, stinging eyes he sought for the storyteller, for the woman that brought him to this cold, damp storeroom beneath a dive bar in west Midgar. And he found her, but she wasn't alone. Molds of figures, still mending together as his vision returned sat with her, but somehow, he knew she was among them. They hadn't noticed his second coming back into reality.

"In what world did you think this was a good idea, Yuffie?" A stern, male voice, one that sounded too comfortable speaking to her like this. "He's dangerous and now a target, by people _just_ as dangerous as he is."

A voice of reason and protection. "Cloud, that's enough – she was just trying to help."

Smoke filled lungs of a older voice then echoed. "Yeah, help gettin' us **killed**! I wouldn't be surprised if they're waitin' outside the door right now!"

Then lastly, a calm voice; there was some subtle clicking behind her words, like tapping on the table top or something mechanical. A computer, perhaps. "They're _not_ and you know that, Cid. Yuffie swore no one followed them and we should believe her."

Yuffie said nothing. She must have already spoken her case. But by the sound of her colleagues, her mistakes still hung in the air. Perhaps if he was coherent enough to join in, he would be against her. He knew of every single reason why their odd-partnership should have ended the moment they stepped out of the museum, but instead, here he was, still in her presence and now in company of more potential victims of his own mistakes. If they were smart, they would get rid of him immediately, literally 'kick-him-to-the curb' and forget all about him. If his mission was a failure, he was better off dead... But somehow, by the look on Yuffie's face, something that came into view once his vision returned, he wasn't going anywhere. Her mind was obviously made up with or without their badgering.

"Well, anyways – I can't hang around here much longer or Shera will start callin' the business line again," the gruff man said, pushing off his spot from the wall. Even from here, Vincent could tell the smoke came from him. And when the man said his goodbyes and headed out of the cellar, the smell traveled with him.

And the woman with, as he thought, the computer, also stood up, collecting her things into a knapsack. Her golden hair looked white under the overhead lights. "I have work in the morning, but I'll process any pictures I have and send them over as soon as possible." And then she turned to Yuffie and shared a light smile. "We still have time, don't worry."

That left Yuffie and the two others, the man he assumed was Cloud, and the other woman, a familiar figure and face that he could not place from his waning memory. They stood close together, looking at one enough with either scorn or annoyance, until the man broke and shook his head. He ascended the stairs to leave the women alone.

"You know they means well, Yuffie..." She said, head still looking at the stairs. "Cloud and Cid just have a terrible way of showing it."

"That's one way to put it," a good amount of resentment was in the young woman's voice. Each of them could hear it.

"We'll figure out what to do in the morning... Don't stay down here all night, alright? You're more than welcome to stay in the guest room upstairs..." She skimmed past her with a light brush across her arm and finally disappeared upstairs.

Finally – a moment to breathe. And it was like the both of them took that chance, except Yuffie suddenly jumped up and made any sort of 'breathing room' inaccessible. She leaned over his head, staring wide-eyed at his face.

"You _are_ alive!" She said it like everyone else in the world doubted her, and the smile across her lips showed that she was glad to be right. "Sure, Tifa did a good job on the bullet holes, but Cid would _not_ shut up about the blood." He must have looked visibly uncomfortable, because she frowned and leaned away, sitting at the stool near his head. He really was laid out on a table...

"How are you feeling?" She asked quietly, eyes unmoving from his own. And he stared on, eyes wandering the ceiling when her glance somehow unnerved him even further. It hadn't taken long before he realized how angry he should be, and now he was in a place where he could barely move. Again, Yuffie must have saw this, even in the small tweaks of his brow. "I'm sorry, okay? But I didn't think it would have been very _cool_ to just leave and let you die like that."

It took everything in his power not to disagree.

His glance returned to her face and he took a moment just to take her in. She looked exhausted, her grey eyes sunken and cheeks pale, her makeup long gone after stress. But at least someone had tended to the wound on her forehead and cleaned up her arms from his blood. She hadn't changed, still wearing a now dusty and ripped black gown, fabric she may have taken a knife to herself if it got in her way. But, as his eyes looked around her face, he realized something was wrong, something was missing.

"What?" She mumbled, touching her face. "Did I miss a smudge or something?"

His head rocked to the side just a bit and he spoke low, like the first time in years. "Your hair clip..." The way her hand flew to her hair was every indication she did not know it was gone.

Emotions flashes across her face, some he recognized, others as inner turmoils. By the look of it, the hair clip meant a whole lot to her. The hand fell from the side of her head into her lap like it dropped from the sky without warning. "Damn," she said after a moment. It was something out of her control now; no matter how her eyes skimmed around the floor beneath them or to the cellar door, she would not find it here. The hair clip was long gone.

Vincent was not sufficient in this department. He did not comfort the living, he put the living out of their misery. And he sort of prayed his wandering expression was enough to tell her that. Instead, he stared at his mended body, wraps of stark white bandages around his bare torso, his left shoulder, and arm. Everything was the same below the belt, but someone had wiggled off his dress shoes and left them sitting on another storage table with his tattered shirt and jacket. And as he rose to sit up, his hand went to his face, but tracing along a bandage across his forehead. Nothing from his recent memory told him that an injury would be present there...

"Whoa, Vince!" The young woman said, hands out at him to lightly push him back down. He did not have the strength to fight her. "We just got your holes to stop bleeding. Don't ruin our hard work."

He had no choice but to settle back on the cold table, but his eyes stuck back on her face. Perhaps she could answer some questions, then, starting with... "What happened to my head?"

A look of embarrassment crossed her face and she smiled meekly. "You kinda fell when I tried to get you out of the car..." His eyebrows stitched together and Yuffie went right on talking. "You're a lot heavier than you look, okay?"

Fair enough.

"Where did you bring me?"

" _Seventh Heaven._ You know, the bar on 5th and Nibel." She said it was like common knowledge.

In fact, it was. Of course he knew, especially since it was the same bar he ventured to with his coworkers two nights ago. And the very bar just a couple blocks away from work.

"Why?"

Yuffie shrugged, staring away as she swung her legs back and forth under the stool. "After what happened tonight, I couldn't just _go home_ , ya know? I had to let them know I was okay."

"But, why me?"

Her eyes darted back to his face like he said something absolutely ridiculous. At least, for her anyway. "I told you that already. I wasn't going to leave you to die."

"Your friends would be safer if you didn't bring me here, Yuffie." The way he said her name made her bristle, but not in fear. She did not stare at him as some did; her eyes were defiant, like anything he said or did would not change her mind about _anything._ And behind those raging storms was something more, something he did not understand.

"We can take care of ourselves just fine, Vincent." The way she hopped off the stool and wandered toward the undercroft of the stairs was her way of telling him 'end of discussion.' She returned a moment later with folded blankets and a flat pillow, and an expression one hundred times different than the one she left with. She grinned, throwing the blanket over him and motioning him to lift his head. He obliged to her unnecessary kindness.

"There," she said, smoothing out the scratchy fabric over him. "It's probably not the most comfortable bed in the world, but moving you around is hard since you weigh a ton." And just when he thought she was going to turn out the light and leave him there, she returned to the stool by his head and stared over his face.

"Have any more questions for the lovely Yuffie Kisaragi?"

He probably had a thousand questions, all a different variation of 'why' and 'how'. But, despite his previous qualms, he settled for a question that wrapped up all of them into one.

"Why are you doing this for me?"

Maybe it was the lack of blood in his veins, the throbbing headache from a dizzy fall, or the begging darkness at the edges of his vision. The stone composure of this man was cracked. Every day, Vincent Valentine swore he would atone for his mistakes, his crimes, his _sins_ \- but every day was the same. Wake up, read the details of the day's job, decide on which method of elimination would be the best, complete the job, write the report, go to bed; there was never time to atone for anything, and every time he _breathed_ , another tally mark was added to his black book. He was nearing the end of it, hash marks in the hundreds with few blank pages left. After years of this, he was ready to burn the book and everything that came with it, including himself.

His interactions outside of work were slim and his growing distress of those around him was probably all in his head, especially by the way Yuffie Kisaragi stared down at him.

A thief probably saw a lot of things, said a lot of things, _did_ a lot of things. She probably had to make bad and uncomfortable decisions every single day. And with the looming father figure in her shadow, she carried a mask thicker and stronger than many. But, then again, he knew nothing about her. She was a girl from his memories, one recent and another from long ago.

Who knows what she really faces when the lights turn out?

Who knew he was about to find out?

* * *

Hours earlier, Reeve was _rather kindly_ shoving Reno out of his office, just after eight. With the events of that night behind them, Reno had stuck around for a while. And as nice and generous as Reeve usually is, kicking him out after hours of senseless comments and worries was his kindness reaction. "I have _tons_ of work to do, Reno, so _please_ \- go home. I'll let you know if anything comes up in the morning."

And despite Reeve pushing the door closed, Reno's shoe caught it. "But, I can't be the only one who finds this a _little_ strange, right?" Was it curiosity? Or actually caring that kept Reno around this long? "Vince _always_ calls, good or bad."

Reeve sighed, exhaustion clearly on his face and in tone of voice. He fought against the urge to push his coworker's face back, though the idea of it was extremely promising. "And when he does," he stated flatly, "I will let you know. I _always_ do." And in a rare moment, Reeve stared firmly at the green-eyed, nothing-short-of-a-lunatic, Reno. "Get some sleep. I'll call you in the morning."

Reno's foot was wedged back and the door closed in his face, finally giving Reeve a moment to breathe. It wouldn't last; panic or worry were always ready to boil up again, just as he settled behind his desk and decided to bring up the nightly news on his office television.

A young spunky woman on the screen visibly beamed, dyed blonde hair and makeup perfect, despite the hour and the details of this grim story. Flip to another channel and you'd find a similar correspondent, covering the same tragic event. For this woman, however, it seemed that this was about to be her big break and, by Shiva, she was going to make the most of it. Behind her was the museum, alive with the rush of emergency services on the scene. Even just two hours after the attack, people were still there, now picking up the pieces of this strange crime.

"New development in the Meteorfall Museum of History attack," she said quickly, hand tight around her microphone. "Law enforcement believe this was an attempt on a guest's life, specifically on the life of the president of Shrina Electric and Power, and esteemed donor of the museum, Rufus Shinra." A picture popped up of Rufus Shinra, probably from the company's official webpage on employees. "We have confirmed that Rufus Shinra is unharmed and safe this evening. Details on who or what orchestrated this horrific act is still unclear, but key eye witnesses have pointed out multiple suspected individuals that police would like to question, specifically these seven people." Rufus's picture faded away and a set of pictures flashed up over her face. One was an old man, probably pushing 90. Another was a young woman, too sweet and cheery to hurt a fly. Others were not so distinguishable. Reeve only recognized three of the photos, each not particularly clear, but Reeve knew those faces anywhere. His blood ran cold.

Sephiroth, Reno, and Vincent.

"Law enforcement are currently reaching out to photographers for clearer pictures and descriptions, but if you encounter any of these seven individuals or have any information about the details pertaining to this event, please reach out to the local law enforcement immediately. These individuals could be dangerous and still be armed. In other news, there was one casualty and three people were rushed to the hospital for non-lethal wounds. And, as of now, law enforcement confirms nothing of value was taken or misplaced in the panic. More details are coming within the hour – stay tuned."

Reeve hit the off button before they returned to the studio, mostly to process the situation in silence.

The three were particularly unique in physical description; with Sephiroth's long hair, Reno's red mane, and Vincent's eyes, anyone with cable and some sense would point them out in an instant. Reeve only wished that he hadn't pushed Reno out so soon, maybe giving him a chance for a head start. Sephiroth would be fine; close contact with Rufus Shinra, his usual bodyguard and close associate, would have no reason to seek out assassination.

Reeve only knew this because Vincent Valentine was very clear of his own personal motives. Maybe not outright, but Reeve had his methods of finding information.

He tried Vincent's cell phone again, reaching the automated voice message system: "We're sorry – the caller you are trying to reach is unavailable at this time... The caller's mailbox is full; good bye."

This was hardly suspicious. The quiet man made sure the mailbox was full to keep people, like Reno, from leaving more messages. The only other way for Reeve to reach his friend was texting, something he had been actively doing since the museum event abruptly ended.

He punched in another message, a little less pleading and a bit more warning, _**"Police are on to you** **–** **stay low and call me as soon as you can."**_

Just a moment and a half later, the phone buzzed, and Reeve nearly thought Vincent finally came through. Instead, the message was odd, like someone that wasn't supposed to was using his phone.

 _ **"Who is this?"**_

Reeve had told the man time and time again to put a stupid passcode on his phone, just for something like this. Vincent never once misplaced his phone, though, even in a life or death situation. Any rookie hitman would know losing a cellular device at the scene of a crime, encrypted or not, would run said rookie and the organization in deep, legal trouble.

 _ **"Who are you and why do you have this phone?"**_ Reeve typed back.

 _ **"I asked u first, buddy!"**_ What followed was a very uncharacteristic emoticon, a tiny yellow face winking and sticking its tongue out at Reeve. Yeah, this was definitely not Vincent.

 _ **"Fine.**_ _ **I'm a close –"**_ He typed 'friend,' but quickly replaced that with something less personal, just in case. _**"**_ _ ** _ **–**_ associate to Vincent Valentine. I need to know if he is OK."**_

Then, for about two minutes, Reeve saw nothing but the little 'thought bubble' reflecting on his phone's screen, the tiny notice that the other party was typing something. It would disappear, then reappear, then go again. After two minutes of pondering thoughts, a skeptical yellow face was the only reply. Fair enough; Reeve would not be so trusting of the other, as well. From the way these messages were going, whoever had Vincent's phone seemed to know him, too. Or, at least, was in close proximity of him. He had no choice but to press more.

 _ **"I'm a friend. I just need to know if Vincent is OK**_ _ ** _ **–**_ that's all." **_

The 'thought bubble' returned, but it was brief. _**"He's fine, just a little banged up, tho."**_

A half a moment later, then, _**"Don't worry, tho! I took care of him."**_

Then, _**"He told me I can trust u."**_

What followed was an address, surprisingly, just a few blocks away. And just when Reeve was about to question if this was really someone he could trust with Vincent's well-being, he was sent a picture: a young woman, slightly pale but all smiles, throwing up a peace sign with Vincent sitting up behind her, annoyed, bandaged, but alive, looking away from the camera.


End file.
